


Hope it gives you hell

by GodsHumbleClown



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Abandonment, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Because of Crohn's, Cats, Child Neglect, Chronic Illness, Crohns Disease, Eating Disorders, F/M, Family, Foster Care, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 55,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsHumbleClown/pseuds/GodsHumbleClown
Summary: GodsHumbleClown missed writing about these characters, so here's a third part, because she has no self control.Spot and Fam doin things.Intend to rewrite this summary but probably never will actually do so.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 468
Kudos: 202
Collections: Take These Broken Wings





	1. I'm Back (Again)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: idk how the law or court systems work and also I'm not jewish. If you know about these things, please feel free to correct any misinformation I may have gotten from google!

"It's not ideal, I know. Believe me, I tried everything to keep him out of it, but they're adamant that Sean needs to testify."

David Jacobs was not eavesdropping. 

He was reading, and it absolutely was not his fault that Bryan and Jonathan assumed his earbuds were plugged into something. 

David wore the earbuds so that people left him alone, not to discreetly listen in on conversations that weren't supposed to be involving him. 

The fact that he was now more listening to the conversation than he was learning about poisonous plants from his book was completely coincidental. They were talking too loud. That was all.

David finally flipped his book closed and sat up, fully committing to definitely-not-eavesdropping. 

Bryan sounded tired and frustrated, which made David angry. Couldn’t they have just a  _ few  _ weeks of peace, after everything that had happened? They couldn’t even celebrate the holidays in peace. 

He resisted the urge to throw his book; it was a library book, and would also make a very conspicuous thudding noise that surely Bryan and Jonathan would hear. 

Instead, David just sighed along with Bryan in the next room over. 

“Any idea when it’s going to be?”

David sat completely still, wanting to hear. 

“January, most likely. I’d break the news after the holidays are done, if I were you. Let him have that.” 

The "him" in question was currently asleep, in spite of the fact that it was close to noon. Spot slept like a cat, meaning anytime, anywhere, but typically in short intervals interrupted by nightmares that made David want to cry. 

David felt almost like he could see his father rubbing his eyes in exhausted thought, a gesture he’d been making entirely too often lately. 

Spot’s arrival in their family had certainly mixed things up, but David couldn’t possibly blame him for it. Spot  _ belonged  _ with them, he was family. 

Not for the first time, David felt a thick, boiling fury bubble up in the pit of his stomach. Spot could be an annoying little jerk sometimes, sure, but nobody deserved…  _ that. _

He'd come back home to them a mess, bruised and frightened, with the beginnings of infection forming around his mostly-healed surgical wound. 

Spot’s “parents” had left their own child living in filth in their own home, and they’d  _ hurt  _ him. 

David hated them. 

But Spot had  _ his  _ family now. David and Sarah and Les and Bryan. They were his family, and they’d  _ never  _ let him suffer like that. They would make sure he ate, and took his medicine, and help (force him to) carefully pick lice nits out of his hair, and anything else, no matter how much Spot complained about it. 

Spot was stubborn, sure, but David and the rest of the family could be stubborn too. Spot was just going to have to deal with the fact that they loved him, even if he wanted to go around whining about it. 

“Well, I’ll call you if I have any updates.”

David quickly grabbed his book and opened it halfway through, pretending he hadn’t been listening in on Bryan and Jonathan’s conversation. 

“Thanks for coming, Jonathan. Happy Holidays.”

“Happy Holidays, Bryan.” 

The front door shut behind Jonathan, and David continued to “read” until his book was suddenly snatched away from above. If Bryan was the kind of person who was capable of looming, David would have said he looked over him, but Bryan did not loom, not in any way shape or form. 

David fixed Bryan with the most innocent look he could muster, but of course, the man saw right through it. He knew his kids too well. 

“Eavesdropping, David? Really?”

David looked away guiltily, but Bryan  _ did  _ sound a bit like he was trying not to laugh…

“Sorry,” David offered a mumbled apology. 

“But it wasn’t  _ totally  _ my fault.” 

“Care to explain how exactly?” Bryan sat on the couch beside him and gave David’s shoulder a gentle nudge.

“I was in here first! You could have gone and talked somewhere else!”   
David found himself laughing as Bryan playfully smacked him upside the head with his book. 

“You’ve got me on a technicality, kiddo. I thought I raised you better. Rude boy."

That dramatic declaration made David smile, now one hundred percent sure he wasn’t  _ actually  _ in any trouble for listening in on the technically-private conversation. 

"Is everything okay?" 

He couldn't help but ask, even though David wasn’t really supposed to know anything might  _ not  _ be okay. 

Bryan nodded, but he looked tired all over again.

“It’s not the outcome we’d hoped for, but honestly, I was more or less expecting it. Sean’s going to have to see his…” the man hesitated before continuing. “He’ll have to see them one more time.”

Davdid didn’t miss the way his father danced around the word  _ parents _ . Biologically, sure, the Conlons were Spot’s parents, but Bryan was the one he called Dad, not the creep who’d hurt him. 

"Can I trust you not to tell him?"

Bryan's voice popped David out of his thought bubble and back into the real world. 

"I'd like for his first year with us to at least have a happy ending."

David nodded. He wanted that too. 

"I wonder how he'll feel about the whole "Celebrating Both Christmas and Hanukkah" thing."

That weirded some people out, David knew. But how could they not celebrate Christmas when most of the other foster kids their family had taken in around the holidays would have wanted to?

"The Christmas tree needed first aid; I fear what troubles the menorah might bring."

David was an expert at serious and dramatic declarations to lighten the fact that he was actually somewhat nervous. 

What if Spot  _ didn't  _ like their traditions? Or he said something to upset Les? Spot wasn't exactly good at keeping his negative opinions to himself. 

Spot didn't have experience with  _ family _ traditions, much less their strange and wonderfully unique Jewish/Christian/Non-Religious blended type. 

Oh, Bryan was talking still. Stupid dissociation, making David miss half a conversation. 

"I just hope no cats go up in flames this year."


	2. Jenny is best Alarm Clock Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writers block is mean to me like I am mean to Spot.

Waking Sean up was a bit of a delicate process, or if you didn't want to get kicked in the stomach, it was. 

The best way, Bryan had discovered, was to deposit Jenny, the little calico who had decided she was Sean's cat and nobody else's, directly onto the boy's head. While she snuggled him awake, Bryan stepped back, out of kicking distance. 

The little cat adored Sean, and without fail, started purring and rubbing at his face immediately. 

It was understandably kind of difficult for one to sleep with that going on right next to their ear. 

Bryan scooped the cat from her spot cuddled against Sean's side, where she spent most, if not every night asleep. She gave a little squeak of protest at being woken up, but quickly turned into a wiggling floppy spotted dish towel in Bryan's hands. 

He tugged the cheerful yellow blanket away from the boy's face and gently plopped Jenny in its place. 

"Work your magic, Jenny," Bryan said with a smile, and the little calico gave him a judgemental look at the indignity of this whole situation. 

She turned away from him in a huff, and instead set to work, purring, rubbing, and just in general annoying her favorite person awake. 

Bryan stepped away from the bed a few feet, ready to avoid anything Sean might kick or throw or flail in his direction.

"Fuck off," he mumbled, exactly as Bryan had expected. The swearing, though Bryan still gently discouraged it, was basically a fact of life at this point. 

The sky is blue, grass is green, Sean Conlon-Denton is going to swear at you if you wake him up.

Thus why Bryan no longer asked Les to wake the older boy in the mornings. No need to give his youngest that kind of an education yet. 

It was just a part of their morning routine, or sometimes not-morning, such as now, in the early afternoon. 

What was not part of their morning routine, however, was for Sean to sit up and then immediately and aggressively fall back down, wincing in pain.

The boy let out a long, thin whine, curling up on himself, and Bryan couldn't stop himself from reaching out, an impulsive effort to help. 

"Dad, it hurts." 

Sean was pretty obviously in pain, folded almost in half to try and relieve it somewhat. 

"Here, let's sit up," Bryan suggested, gently tugging on one skinny arm to pull the boy upright. 

Sean whined again, somehow managing to sound even more pitiful this time, but he uncurled enough to get into a sitting position. 

"Do you need your pills?"

Sean was pretty opposed to taking any of the medications prescribed to him, especially the ones that weren't daily. Bryan suspected it was a matter of pride, one that they'd have to work through eventually. 

Sean didn't respond, which Bryan took to mean yes. 

"Let's go downstairs," he suggested, shifting to help the boy to his feet. 

"You'll feel better once you're up and about."

 _And sleeping this late turns you into an even bigger grouch_. 

Not that Bryan was going to say _that_ out loud. 

Sean wrapped himself in his blanket, a soft yellow thing that looked like it could use a wash sometime soon, scooped up Jenny, and wandered out the door and down the stairs. 

It was a miracle the kid didn't trip, what with everything he was holding and dragging around. 

For someone so desperate to act grown-up, Sean sure did act an awful lot like Linus with that blanket, at least in the mornings.

But this was a recent habit, one that came about only after Sean's return home to them. If the boy needed a childish comfort object, Bryan could never deny him that. 

Sean curled up on the couch, Jenny cuddled up to his side like a fuzzy little throw pillow. 

He looked so thin, Bryan thought with no small pang of sadness. Sean had only just started to look healthy, and then his parents had to set him back who knew how long? 

Their neglect had undone months of doctor's visits, medications, and urging/forcing the boy to eat. 

Speaking of which...

"Have you eaten today?" Sean's diet consisted almost entirely of Jell-O, and even that, only when Bryan or sometimes Sarah insisted he had to. 

He'd been awake for an hour or two earlier that morning before going back to bed; maybe Sean had eaten breakfast for once?

"Mhm." The boy leaned back into the couch, curling up and tugging his blanket over his head. Bryan couldn't keep back a smile. 

As much as this kid _tried_ to pretend like he was a tough guy, Sean was very much a child. 

A stubborn, pushy child, but still. A kid, and one who was most likely not keeping a diet his doctor would be pleased with. 

"What did you have?” Bryan was fairly sure he already knew the answer, since Sean never ate anything aside from his one favorite food, but he always asked anyway. 

Maybe out of some false hope that the boy would willingly consume more than 100 calories a day. 

Sean mumbled through his blanket exactly what Bryan had expected. 

"Jellocup."

"Kiddo, you have to eat real food," Bryan chided gently, nudging Sean's arm softly. 

"Mhmph," Sean grunted, still completely noncommittal. 

Well, at least that wasn't an outright No. 

Bryan went to the kitchen medicine cabinet, which Jonathan had annoyingly but understandably insisted they start locking all medications up into. 

He understood the logic behind it, but Bryan wished there was another way. 

Sean was much more likely to take a painkiller if he could just quietly get it himself, rather than asking for it and admitting weakness. 

He was allowed to take two of the little pills every few hours, and considering how much the boy had relied on the wall to get downstairs, Bryan decided he'd better stick with the full dosage. 

"Thanks," Sean mumbled, his voice a little more clear now that his head wasn't under a blanket. 

Bryan almost wished the boy put up more of a fuss; if he cooperated, that meant he was in a lot of pain. 

Poor kid had already been through so much; now even just living in his own body was a fight. 

But he was home now, home and safe and currently getting cat hair all over his blanket and clothes. 

Well, they needed to be washed anyway. 


	3. I'm feeling soft todayyyyyy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest, updates are probably gonna be a bit less often than I'd like, since college just started and it's kicking my ass already.  
> I'll be updating as often as I can, but I obviously want to make sure I'm posting chapters I'm proud of, not just grinding out for the sake of keeping a schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any theories on why our man Denton is in a good mood?? I promise, it is relevant.

Spot glared with as much and as obvious hatred as he could possibly muster at his older brother. He was not currently in physical pain, having been tricked into taking his medications while half-asleep, but David had apparently decided to bully him, and cause serious emotional damage that likely would be irreparable. 

"Sean, don't hiss at your brother."

Bryan didn't even look up from washing dishes, so really, Spot figured one could argue that it clearly wasn't a big deal. 

"I am _not_ a baby," Spot argued, definitely not hissing and also kind of ignoring the main point of what Bryan had just said, which was probably something along the lines of "be nice and not confrontational." 

"You're not _a_ baby. Just the baby of the family," David explained, sounding entirely too matter-of-fact for Spot's liking. 

"Les is _ten._ If anyone is the baby, it's him."

"Ten isn't a baby!" Les piped up defensively from his Lego construction under the Christmas tree. 

"I'm almost double digits!"

Sarah nodded in agreement, her fake-seriousness so obviously nearly breaking out into laughter like the traitor she was. Spot ate her stupid toast this morning, so she was supposed to be on his side. 

"See, Spot? Les can't be the baby, so it must be you."

Spot hissed at her this time, giving her the finger while Les wasn't looking. 

Bryan turned around and pointed at Spot, soap covered spatula in hand and a half-hidden smile on his face. 

"Sean, I said don't hiss."

Bryan was trying to sound stern, Spot could tell, but he was extremely bad at it. 

"You said don't hiss at _David._ I can hiss at Sarah all I want."

Bryan chose to ignore the rude hand gesture Spot threw Sarah's way, and instead just repeated "don't hiss at _anyone,"_ before returning to his dishes. 

Spot grumbled at that, no specific words in particular, just a general tone to let Bryan know that he didn't agree with the man's pacifist stance. 

Bryan laughed, drying his hands on a clean dish towel and joining the little group in the living room. 

"You're my baby," Bryan announced, wrapping his arms around Spot from behind. The man was sneaky like that, hugging from the back so Spot couldn't push him away. Not that he would have pushed Bryan away, but that was irrelevant. 

Spot was not a baby; he was almost fifteen! Definitely not a baby. 

Besides, trapping Spot in a hug was _cheating_. Bryan was a cheater-hugger, so it didn't count as Spot allowing himself to be hugged. Spot was an angry jerk and he didn't do hugs, whatever anyone else might say, including his recent history of being hugged quite often. 

"All of you are my babies."

Spot could hear the teasing in Bryan's voice, a warmth that was nearly a laugh. 

Maybe it meant he was getting soft, but Spot loved it. 

Bryan set his chin on the top of Spot's head, gently squeezing his shoulder in a silent _are you okay with this?_

Spot squeezed back to respond that _yes_ , he was okay with it. 

Bryan was annoyingly nice sometimes, and annoyingly insistent that Spot also try to be nice, but this squeeze-language was one nice thing that Spot didn't find annoying. 

For one thing, nobody else could tell he was doing it, so Spot didn't have to lose what little tough-guy reputation he had left. 

For another thing, Spot needed their code, whether he wanted to admit it or not. 

He needed to be able to say things like _stop_ , _scary_ , _too much_ , and to be able to say them silently. 

Spot could silently declare "fuck off" quite easily, just one finger, to be specific, and he did that again, this time in David's direction as his brother gave a smile that would suggest Spot was acting _cute_. 

Spot wasn't cute, small, babyish, or anything at all like that. 

Bryan put his hand around Spot's, closing his bird finger into just a fist. 

Spot scowled at the treachery, and David laughed. It was...nice. 

Things were nice, finally. 

Spot found himself involuntarily leaning back into Bryan's arms more securely, letting the man support a bit more of his admittedly kind of light weight. 

Of course, Bryan didn't complain, he just pulled Spot closer, letting him get comfortable. 

He sighed in contentment, happy to be inside, clean and warm, and no pain. 

Things were just nice. 

Maybe this time they could stay that way for a little while. Spot could hope, couldn't he?

* * *

Spot opened the middle drawer to his dresser, shifting his t-shirts over to one side. He didn't really have all that many clothes, which was just fine by him. It just meant that his dresser had extra space to store things without anyone knowing, and that was always useful, whether he was hiding good things or not-so-good things. 

He still had half a pack of cigarettes in there, swiped from Aiden's jacket pocket… Spot shook his head, shoving the little box aside. He didn't want to think about that ever again. 

What was more important was the small pile of objects tucked away in the corner. Spot had never had anyone to buy Christmas gifts for, so he hoped he'd done it right.

A little purple candle in Sarah's favorite scent, lavender, which had taken a good bit of sleuthing for Spot to figure out, and a pair of fuzzy socks with little cats on them that looked just like David's old cat, Scotch. 

Les was a little more difficult, since Spot's youngest brother was… chaotic, to say the least, but finally he'd decided on a few weird little wind-up toys that hopefully would at least amuse the kid for a few minutes. 

Bryan, of course, Spot had gotten a little ceramic bird, small enough to fit easily in his fist. 

Spot turned the little thing over in his hands. It was cheap, and from Walmart, a billion-dollar corporation. So why did he still feel kind of bad for shoplifting it? The store would never notice it was gone, they wouldn’t care. It didn’t _matter._ Stuff like that had never mattered to Spot. 

But it did matter now. 

It mattered because the idea of giving Bryan, his _dad,_ something stolen was just wrong somehow. Bryan was too honest, and for some reason, Spot knew he wouldn’t like to know one of his kids was a thief, even if it was from a company that probably deserved it. 

Bryan didn't really have _bad_ moods; he was normally pretty cheerful, but lately, he'd been even happier than usual. Spot couldn't help but wonder why, seeing as things were pretty normal lately, and not much to get excited about. 

Maybe he just really liked the holidays. 

Either way, Spot couldn’t stand the thought of ruining that happiness, so he slipped the bird into his pocket. 

He’d bring it back to the store and buy it for real, and nobody would ever have to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently doing research on hanukkah, since I'd like to include a bit about that holiday, so if anyone has any resources or suggestions that would be good for me to reference, please let me know!


	4. Fire go 🔥🔥🔥

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stayed up way way too late reading this and now I get to do college sleep deprived but worth it.  
> Also I read a fic and felt an emotion and now I'm a MESSS. 
> 
> Also im not Jewish so if something in here is wrong, plz yell at me so I can fix it.  
> I've never done this much research for a single chapter before but TaDaaaaaaaa. Hope ya like it

Spot watched all the proceedings in the living room from the safety of the couch, out of the way, but still technically involved. 

He didn't know how this worked, and really didn't want to get underfoot. 

The menorah thing looked dangerously close to the curtains, considering Lenny liked to climb said curtains and send them swinging all over the place. 

Bryan lit the middle candle, and started speaking in a language Spot didn't even recognize. 

He said things, David, Sarah, and Les repeated them. Spot wondered if the whole repeating thing was for his benefit, since everybody else seemed more or less confident in what words to say. 

Spot sat back, not really sure what he was supposed to be doing. He'd never done...this before. 

Sure, plenty of foster families had been religious, but their prayers had felt so much stiffer, like a cold, monotone speech _at_ a God who couldn't possibly be listening. 

A lot of them either didn't want Spot around for their prayers, or forced him to join in, and punished him for refusing. Refusing or screwing up, which he did often. 

Maybe that was why Spot didn't like religious people all that much. 

But this...this was different in every way. 

Bryan fumbled a few words here and there, but as a whole, it sounded… beautiful. This felt like he was talking _to_ somebody. Like maybe someone was out there listening. 

Nobody was snapping about misspoken words, no harshness when Les nearly bumped the curtain directly into the flames, just soft voices in a prayer that was almost a song. 

Spot mouthed along with the words, barely even a whisper to hide the fact that his stupid tongue was definitely butchering at _least_ every other word. 

H3 wasn't exactly sure what was being said, so he glanced down at the paper Bryan had written out for him with the translations.

_Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who hallows us with mitzvot, commanding us to kindle the Hanukkah lights._

Mitzvot? Adonai? Spot didn't know those, but Bryan's neat penmanship labelled the foreign words to mean Commandment and Master. 

Neither of those were words that Spot would be particularly receptive to under normal circumstances, but he couldn't bring himself to be contrary about authority right now.

Not when it was warm and cozy and he honestly was starting to fall asleep. 

_Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who performed wonderous deeds for our ancestors in days of old at this season._

Spot blinked sleepily, staring at the flickering light of the tall candle. David would probably be more than happy to give Spot a rundown of all these "wonderous deeds for the ancestors" if he were to ask, but it would almost certainly be wordy and boring. Maybe he should just ask Bryan to tell him.

_Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season._

At this point, it was a miracle that Spot was alive. He shouldn't be alive, really. Not after everything that had happened. Even just in the last year, surely one scrawny little street rat kid shouldn't have stood a chance? 

Maybe there _was_ somebody out there listening, somebody bigger than the stupid fucking world that never brought anything but hurt. 

Maybe. Or maybe Spot was just so tired, he was thinking sappy thoughts without any reason. 

Spot watched Bryan light the farthest candle to the right, and then put the first candle, which according to David had a name that Spot immediately forgot, back in its place at the center. 

Spot had never really had the best relationship with fire. 

For most of his life, fire was used largely for things like lighting cigarettes or joints, things that always ended up hurting. 

Spot ran a hand absently along his collarbone, feeling the little raised scars dotting his skin. 

The relaxed feeling faltered for a moment, and he shifted, fidgeting to get the little bits of nervousness back down deep inside where they belonged, all locked up so he didn't have to feel them. 

Anger, punishment, pain. 

That was what fire had been for his family. His first family, the one that had never been a family anyway. 

This family, though. This _real_ family. Their fire was a candle in the window, something hopeful and thankful and even reverent. 

Spot didn't like being reverent, or at least, he didn't usually like it. 

Bryan sat beside him on the couch, and Spot leaned into the man's side, still watching the pair of candles flicker and glow. 

Was he going soft? 

Surely Spot shouldn't be liking this whole religious thing so much, right? 

Spot didn't realize Sarah could sing. She had a nice voice, even if it was a song he didn't know at all. 

He wondered if _she_ even knew the meaning of all those words, or if she just sang without understanding. 

That would be a very Sarah thing to do, he thought absently, snuggling a bit closer into Bryan's warm arms. 

So what if he was going soft? Spot was _cold_ , and he wanted to not be cold anymore. 

He could be soft for now. No harm. Nobody would have to know. 

For now, things were nice, his dad had him, (Spot got an embarrassing little thrill every time he thought or said the word "Dad") Spot was safe and warm and everything was good. 

Peaceful. That was a new one. Spot was kind of surprised when he found himself really enjoying it. 


	5. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw : Mentions of blood, depression, medical references

If Crohn's Disease itself didn't kill him, Spot was pretty sure the side effects of the half dozen pills they wanted to force down his throat would do it just as well. 

Waking up with a bloody nose was just not fun, in Spot's personal opinion. 

Partly, of course, because of the blood covering absolutely everything and giving him a heart attack at six in the morning, and partly because it meant he was _awake_ at six in the morning. 

Spot shifted to get out of bed, tugged off his formerly-blue-but-now-blue-with-red-spots pillowcase, and headed downstairs, using the already bloody piece of fabric to soak up blood. 

Gross. 

It didn't seem to be stopping, which was basically the opposite of an ideal situation as far as Spot was concerned. 

He'd better go find something other than a pillowcase to stop the blood, or it was definitely going to stain. 

Spot should go find Sarah, ask her how to get the blood out. Girls were good at getting blood out of things. 

Though that wasn't really a conversation Spot wanted to get involved with right now, or ideally, ever, so maybe he should just figure this out on his own. He'd had plenty of bloody noses before. 

Spot wandered downstairs in search of either some tissues or something more rag-like than his pillowcase.

"Oh my- Sean! What happened?"

Bryan stopped Spot at the bottom of the stairs, face completely filled with concern the second he saw the understandably concerning amount of blood. 

"My fucking nose is bleeding, what's it look like?" Spot griped, muffling his words up in the wad of fabric. 

Bryan didn't even chide him on the language, which was somewhat unusual. 

"Here, come and sit down."

Spot could almost immediately feel any stress leak out of his body now that Bryan was in control. 

The man led him over to the kitchen table and brought a clean towel over. 

"Trade me."

Spot handed over the pillowcase, which was promptly tossed into the laundry, and replaced it with the much less sticky dishtowel. 

Spot tilted his head back to try and stop his nose-fountain from spewing all over the kitchen, but Bryan stopped him, tilting his head forward instead. 

"Don't lean back, it'll go down your throat."

"But I'll make a mess forward," Spot argued, trying his best not to drip all over his clothes as Bryan gently cupped the back of his head with one hand to keep him from moving. 

"Not as much as you'll make when you throw up from swallowing blood."

"Ew."

Spot shrugged Bryan's hand off the back of his head, but kept himself tilted the way the man wanted him to. 

Bryan might be right, but that didn't mean Spot wanted somebody pinning him in place, no matter how gentle they were about it. 

Bryan just sat next to him, not really doing much, but Spot wasn't going to complain about the company.

"I should save it for Skittery," Spot commented, checking to see if he'd run out of blood yet. 

"He loves stealing my blood. The jerk."

Bryan chuckled, and then took the towel from Spot's no-longer-bleeding nose. 

"Here, let's clean that up," Bryan suggested, and then took a clean, damp washcloth from the sink and started wiping gently at the blood caked all over Spot's face. 

"Mmmphh, hey!" Spot wriggled and squirmed in his chair like a worm, or maybe a caterpillar. Whichever was more likely to get a bloody nose.

"Da-ad! Dad! I can do it myself!" Spot protested, wriggling backwards to escape the undignified babying and then snatching away the rag in defiance. 

He was perfectly capable of wiping his own _nose,_ thank you very much. 

The man smiled and held up his hands in mock surrender. 

"Alright, no need to bite my hands off about it." 

Bryan stepped back and just smiled stupidly, looking at Spot like he was being _cute_. 

Only Bryan would think his kid cleaning blood off his face was cute and not murderous. 

_His kid_. 

Maybe it wasn't _legally_ official yet, but Bryan said Spot could call him Dad. That made it as official as things could be, in Spot's opinion. 

Being Bryan's kid also meant having Bryan _care_ about you, which was annoying sometimes. For example, when you didn't want to take more pills, which Spot typically did not. 

"Dr. Morris said to keep taking them for a few days, as long as the side effects aren't dangerous," Bryan said, handing Spot six pills of assorted sizes. 

"Dr. Morris is a pervert," Spot grumbled. He had to complain about it, or else everybody might think he was _happy_ about being kept alive. 

"Dr. Morris is the boss," Bryan said firmly, insistently handing over the pills and a cup of orange juice. 

He was always trying to trick Spot into "consuming the necessary nutrients to stay healthy" in whatever various forms he could force down his throat. 

Spot complied though, even if he knew the pills were going to make his nose bleed or head spin, because anything was better than how his stomach felt when he _didn't_ take them. 

Bryan went back to the medicine cabinet, and instead of just putting away Spot's pill bottles, he also took out another that he didn't recognize.

The man took two pills from the bottle and swallowed them, not even bothering with water. 

Spot felt something rise in his stomach, something bad and scared and worried. 

Was Bryan sick?

How had Spot never seen him do that before?

"Dad? What are those?"

"My antidepressants," Bryan said, entirely too casually, as if Spot was supposed to know this information somehow. 

"You're depressed?"

Spot didn't know how to handle that revelation. 

Bryan looked over at Spot, his face a contradictory mixture of serious and nonchalant that Spot couldn't quite puzzle out. 

He knew he didn't like it, that was for sure. 

Bryan was supposed to be the strong one, always certain and always… _there_. 

If he wasn't… Spot didn't know what might happen. 

"Hey, come here." 

Bryan sat down next to Spot and put an arm around his shoulders. 

"It's still me, don't worry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before; I thought for sure you knew." 

Spot didn't know what to say. How was he supposed to have known that about Bryan? 

"You don't act depressed," he said softly, trying to avoid sounding judgemental.

"You're always so happy."

Bryan sighed, but not in an annoyed way. 

"Its more complicated than just… sad versus happy."

Bryan looked thoughtful, clearly trying to come up with some way to explain this that Spot would actually get. 

"So, think of a happy color." He looked at Spot expectantly, so he said the first word that popped into his mind and hoped playing along would help this to actually make sense. 

"Yellow." 

People always said yellow was happy, right?

"Okay, and then a sad one would be blue, right?"

Spot nodded slowly, trying to figure out what the point of this metaphor was. 

"My world isn't blue, and it isn't yellow. I can see both, like everybody else. But without my medication, they're… muted. Kind of washed out and grey," Bryan explained. 

"Which I guess does sometimes _make_ me feel sad, but it's not the exact same thing."

He smiled warmly at Spot, and he felt the nervousness melt away from the pit of his stomach. 

"Sometimes I do have bad days, and things feel grey and dim, but you kids make things brighter. You're my light, kiddo."

Spot snorted at the sappiness, but he leaned into Bryan's arms just a bit closer. 

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"I-" Spot hesitated, then hid his face in Bryan's shoulder before continuing in a rushed mumble. 

"Iloveyou."

The man's laugh came as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Just warm and happy and _right._

"I love you too, Sean. And I want you to live, so finish your juice."

Spot didn't even complain this time. 


	6. Fluff... unless?

Rain, sleet, snow, or hail, nothing was going to stop David Jacobs from going to work. 

Sure, he wasn't a mailman, but bookstore employee was almost as important. 

Katherine was out of town for the holidays, leaving David and Warren alone to keep the cozy little store up and running for the next couple of weeks. 

David didn't have a problem with that, except that he missed Katherine. Warren was great, and David really liked talking with him; it would just be _better_ if Katherine wasn't in Europe or wherever she was this year. 

Warren was 100% entitled to his totally wrong opinion that _Billy Budd_ was not the most boring book on the planet (chapter four had legitimately nothing to do with the plot whatsoever), but David was absolutely going to tune him out when that was where the conversation wound up. 

He flipped to the back of another book, absently enjoying the warm, peaceful little shop as they did inventory. 

David loved doing inventory, because he didn't really have to think about anything while he worked. 

It was nice, having a few hours of just quiet in his mind, only Warren's voice and the soft shuffle of pages as they worked. 

David sighed in contentment, flipping the pages of an old encyclopedia that was at this point so out of date and battered that it was utterly useless for anything aside from that nice old-book smell. 

Warren laughed. 

"Quit smelling the merchandise," he teased.

"Sniff fresh glue like a normal druggie."

David laughed, setting the book in his ever growing pile. 

"Old glue smells better," he said, as if it was an argument. Warren agreed completely; used bookstore owners usually did. 

"Your brother still like cars and stuff?" 

Warren offered a worn out old instruction manual to a car David had never heard of.

"I don't want to throw it out, but I sincerely doubt anybody is willing to pay money for this."

David shrugged and accepted the manual. 

"He might read it."

Truthfully, David had no idea what Spot would or wouldn't be willing to read. He'd liked _Frankenstein,_ only half finished _Macbeth,_ and flat out refused to read _The Scarlet Letter,_ declaring it "stupid and pretentious". 

David wasn't going to argue, though Spot should probably read the books required for English class. 

Spot would either absolutely devour the book-that-was-basically-a-pamphlet, reading it all at once, or he'd slowly tear out the pages and set them on fire. 

_"I like to watch them burn"_ was not a good excuse for David, or apparently Bryan, who'd confiscated the boy's lighter immediately. 

David was pretty sure Spot was still grouchy about losing his arson privileges, so maybe this car manual would calm him down a bit. 

It wasn't David's fault Bryan didn't want the house to burn down (although it was his fault that Bryan knew about the whole "burning old schoolbooks" thing), so Spot being mad at him was just irrational. 

He shoved the book into his backpack, then settled back into the easy, relaxed rhythm of flipping through books and adding things to lists.

* * *

Winter was David's favorite season, mostly because of snow and no pollen to make him stuffy. 

Everything just looked so pretty, even the alley behind the store where he had parked his car earlier. 

Admittedly, the alley was still kind of creepy at night, which in winter did come early enough that David actually had to be out in the dark, but he only had to walk about thirty feet to get to his car, and Warren was right inside still. 

Even David, the most anxious person on the planet, couldn't be too nervous about that. 

Until the metal trash can flung itself across the alley and directly into his path, at which point David jumped out of his skin and landed in the snow, flat on his back. 

It didn't usually do that. 

David scrambled to his feet to see what, exactly, had made the trash can do… that.

_Please don't be a possum._

David had no problem with possums as long as they stayed far away from him with their gross little tails and creepy faces and… maybe David had many problems with possums. 

This, however, was no possum (thank goodness). 

It was a kitten. A half-grown, skinny little whitish cat with one dark spot right in the middle of it's fluffy, slush-covered chest. 

How had such a scrawny little thing knocked the whole trash can over, David wondered? 

The little grey smear in the snow mewled pitifully, looking up at David with bright green eyes that he couldn't have resisted even if he wanted to. 

David scooped the twiggy little thing up into his arms and wrapped his jacket around the cat to keep it warm. 

Immediately, it started purring, snuggling into his armpit like a little burrow. 

He was in love immediately. 

* * *

"Bryan, I'm a father!"

That announcement knocked Spot off his place in the comfy chair he loved so much. 

"Jack's pregnant?" He joked, hiding the fact that, for a split second, his mind had jumped to that conclusion and then immediately believed it. 

"I found a cat."

David opened his jacket, and sure enough, there was a little kitten, small enough to fit in a shoebox. 

"Teenager cat," David explained, petting it's little toes. 

Spot didn't know what the fuck a teenager cat was supposed to mean, but he assumed it was like a teenager human, half grown and stupid. 

Bryan appeared in the doorway then, wiping his flour-covered hands on a towel. 

"What's this about a cat?"

David held the cat up for Bryan to see. 

"His name's Possum."

It did look kind of like a possum, Spot had to admit. 

Bryan scratched behind one fluffy ear. 

"We can keep him?" David made it sound halfway between a question and a statement. 

"Since when have we ever turned away a stray?"

Spot felt something twist in his stomach. Something bad and sick and hurt. 

Did that mean _him?_

Spot was basically a stray.

Maybe they didn't actually want Spot to stay. It was just a matter of principle.

Bryan knew nobody else would want Spot, so he kept him around. 

Was that the only reason? Spot curled back into his spot on the armchair, wrapping in on himself.

He'd almost believed… Well, he _had_ believed. 

But he shouldn't have; nobody would _actually_ want him. They didn't… nobody would love Spot. 

Sooner or later, even Bryan would get tired of him.


	7. Lice are the literal worst ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got lice once because of my marching band shako and it sucked so much, definitely one of the worst things ever.
> 
> Also Spot's thick brain still can't comprehend that he is loved, the dingus.
> 
> Side effects from different medications vary, and of course I am giving Spot side effects that are making him anxious, cause I'm mean like that.

If Bryan was going to get tired of him in the future, Spot really wished he would start out by getting tired of messing around with his hair. 

He didn't _care_ that Bryan "had to" comb through his hair to get at the lice Spot had apparently gotten infested with when he was - _no, not going to think about that._

The horrible little bugs appeared magically on Spot's head, out of nowhere, not from living in a different, really gross house. That had never happened. Spot had never been there and nothing bad had happened. 

What mattered wasn't where he'd gotten them from. Either way, sitting on Bryan's bed having a comb run through his hair again and again was humiliating and made Spot feel like a stupid little monkey who couldn't clean himself properly. 

"Sean, you need to sit still," Bryan gently chided for what was probably the ten thousandth time that day. 

Spot wiggled involuntarily before he realized just how petty that looked. He couldn't help it; having someone pick at his scalp felt weird, and he was starting to get bored. 

" _Sean!"_

Bryan's groan made Spot wince, not a scared wince, because he knew Bryan wasn't going to hit him or anything, but he still felt bad.

The man was trying to help, Spot just made everything difficult. That was how Jonathan liked to describe him. 

_Difficult_. 

That was just a nice way of saying "a problem" or "bad kid".

Spot refused to let his mind wonder how Jonathan would describe him to the next family. 

There wouldn't be any more families. Bryan said he was staying. Forever. Spot had a family, it was almost official. He didn't have to leave. 

"Sit still, buddy. We're almost done."

But almost official still left room for Bryan to back out. 

"Sorry, Bryan."

Spot sat as motionless as he could manage, trying not to cringe at the poking and tugging on his head, half ticklish, half painful. 

Except Bryan had stopped for just a moment. Why did he stop? Was he mad? He must be mad. 

Spot started shifting to get ready to move, then reminded himself that he didn't need to run from Bryan. Even when he did get mad, Bryan _never_ hurt him. 

"Sean, what's wrong?"

The question came as a surprise, mainly because Spot didn't really think there was anything particularly obvious that might be wrong. 

What did he do wrong? Spot felt his heart start to race, nearly jumping out of his throat and out onto Bryan's bed. 

"Hey, hey, calm down."

Bryan set the comb down and put his arms around Spot's shoulders, squeezing firm but not too tight. 

"Kid, you're shaking. Come here."

Spot wriggled backwards until he was firmly lodged under Bryan's arms, a little cave of warm and soft and safe and good. 

"Breathe with me, Sean. In and out."

Spot shuddered a bit, but he copied Bryan's breaths. Anything to calm the panic rising in his chest. 

_In, out. In, out. It's fine. It's fine. Everything's...fine._

"I'm not mad, Sean. Promise. Just worried about you."

_Fine. Fine. This is fine._

Why didn't he _feel_ fine? He felt like running, fighting, just doing _something._

But there was nothing there to fight, just Spot and Bryan and the sudden and oppressive urge to curl up and sob like a baby. 

"Sean, look at me."

Spot turned so he was at least half facing Bryan. 

"I don't care what you choose to call me, so don't worry about that. I just want to know. Is something making you feel unsafe calling me dad?"

Spot's stomach flipped. He hadn't realized he'd switched back. Was that a bad thing? Whatever it was, surely it had hurt Bryan's feelings, and Spot felt awful.

"I-I don't know," he finally admitted. 

"I'm just… I don't know. It's confusing."

Bryan rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. 

"Okay, it's fine. Whatever you want, alright?" 

Spot nodded slowly, leaning against Bryan's arm. 

"I think…" Bryan began in a voice so soft Spot almost felt like he wasn't talking. 

"I think you should try and talk to Lisa again."

Spot hissed, feeling an emotion that was much easier to comprehend, that emotion being absolute loathing. 

"I don't _like_ Lisa. She's _weird_ and I don't want to talk to her." 

Maybe a big part of that had to do with the fact that Spot didn't want to go to therapy, and not Lisa specifically, but he wasn't about to admit it. 

"Alright," Bryan said calmly, without the irritated sigh or groan or anything else Spot was expecting. 

"What if we find you someone else to talk to?"

Spot hesitated. He didn't really want to talk to someone else, but he really was super uncomfortable talking to Lisa. She was just a tiny bit too much like… like his Mama. 

Too smiley, too… too _close._

He didn't like it. 

"I guess we could try," he admitted, if only to make Bryan happy. 

"Okay," Bryan said, giving Spot's arm a squeeze.

"In the meantime…" 

Spot hissed again, this time at the sudden, and admittedly very gentle, tug at his hair. 

"No fleas in my house," Bryan said, voice as firm as the arm holding Spot in place, though still obviously holding back a laugh. 

" _Possum_ has fleas," Spot whined, not really putting much effort into escaping. 

David's new cat was nearly as bad as the old one, the little furball. 

"Possum is getting a flea bath, which I assume you don't want." 

Spot snorted. 

"I'd rather die."

"No dying. So sit still, let me finish."

Spot sighed, but he stopped squirming. 

Just because he was going to cooperate didn't mean he had to be _cooperative_ , of course. 

No rules against complaining and bitching about it in the monkey-flea-party rulebook, right?


	8. I'm goin through some stuff rn so here's some fluff just to make ME feel better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope u like this chapter. If not, oh well.  
> I needed it, so I wrote it.  
> Please tag triggers. Please. 
> 
> That being said, past animal death is mentioned briefly in this chapter, as well as mentioned chronic illness and medications for this.
> 
> Also, as usual, the language tws apply in pretty much every chapter, and I need to get better about warning people of that. 
> 
> If you've got any triggers or even just things that make you uncomfortable that you'd like me to warn you of in the notes, please dont hesitate to let me know.

"I would like to point out," Spot declared, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. "That, according to the five million doctors I have to talk to, my immune system does not _like me_."

He shook snowflakes out of his hair irritably. 

Well, pretend irritably. Out in the snow with Racetrack, Spot couldn't _really_ be irritated. 

Why exactly they were wandering around in the _fucking woods_ with a dog, Spot didn't fully understand, but Racetrack liked it, so he was determined to at least pretend like he was enjoying himself. 

But first, complaining. 

"I'm going to get sick and _die,_ " Spot whined, leaning into Racetrack's side and nearly knocking them both into a snowdrift. 

"No, I would never allow such a thing," Racetrack declared, tossing an arm around Spot's shoulders, almost bro-like, until he kissed Spot's cheek. 

That wasn't super bro-like. Maybe a little homie, but not bro. 

Spot was not sure how he felt about this new medication he was on, but he suspected it was rotting his brain and turning him stupid. 

Stupid was fine, he decided at that very moment. Stupid was hanging out with Racetrack out in the woods in fucking December with Racetrack's dog. 

Though Spot wouldn't say he _liked_ Bagel, he was _accustomed_ to the dopey, wiggly old thing. 

It helped that Bagel didn't really act like a dog so much as he acted like a demented baboon, Spot decided as the dog proceeded to hump a snowbank. 

"Bagel!" Racetrack scolded. "Get some _standards_." 

"Your dog's a tad bit free with his affections," Spot observed, and Racetrack whacked him with the leash handle. 

"He doesn't even have his te-mphfh, hey!" 

He indignantly shook snow clumps from his face, and Spot couldn't hold back a laugh. 

"Since when do _you_ care if I say _testicles?_ "

"Since you started saying it like Heracles, dumbass," Spot said, affectionately shoving more snow down Racetrack's coat. 

To show love, obviously. Why else would he do such a thing?

Racetrack started to giggle, the stupidest sound Spot had ever heard, and it made him feel stupid too. A good stupid. The kind of stupid that didn't care that he was cold and snowy and had a dog wrapping its leash around his legs and- 

Fuck. 

Spot was fortunate to land in the snowbank, but unfortunate in that Racetrack landed directly on top of him. 

Racetrack burst out laughing, which apparently Bagel took to mean that Spot was right at that very second murdering his favorite human, so the idiot dog started baying his dumb floppy-eared head off. 

They probably looked like absolute morons, a pair of teenage boys lying in the snow while a chubby little beagle howled like it had lost its already very small mind, but Spot was way too happy to care. 

This was an ideal day.

* * *

David had no idea why Spot and Race had chosen today of all days to go for a hike. It was warmer than the past week or so had been, sure, but still freezing. 

Spot _hated_ cold, that much David knew, but he'd basically do whatever Racetrack wanted, no matter what it was. 

Maybe they should get Race to ask Spot about taking his pills when he was supposed to…

Maybe that would be pushing it.

Jack squealed and fell off the couch, interrupting David's thoughts. 

"Evil cat! David, _why_ does every animal you own hate me?"

David laughed, reaching to help his boyfriend back onto the couch. 

"Possum's a baby, and he's just playing." David turned back to the kitten and wiggled his fingers.

"Right, kitty?"

Possum batted at David's hands, and sure, his claws were out and very sharp, but he was very cute, and filled a big hole that David hadn't _really_ been aware of. 

Losing Scotch was… a lot for David. That cat had gotten him through middle school and most of high school, so his sudden absence severely disrupted the routine David relied on so much. 

Possum was a new routine, a new normal. A bit more energetic, a bit friendlier, and David knew he wasn't going to replace Scotch. 

Scotch was his very first pet, and like all cats, he was unique. Possum was nothing even close to "Scotch 2" and that was a good thing. 

David snuggled close to Jack, settling the cat onto both their laps. 

"This movie is funnier than I thought," he admitted. 

Jack was the one who liked black and white movies, though this wasn't a western. David usually couldn't even tell the characters apart. 

"Hornbeck is just Denton. Literally him," Jack said, scratching behind Possum's ears. 

"Oh my gosh, you're right." 

"But like, sassier."

David disagreed with this statement. His dad could be plenty sassy if he so chose. 

"You've never seen him around people who support hunting waterfowl."

"Hunting waterfowl is fundamentally wrong! Disrupting the ecosystem and destroying beautiful creatures."

Bryan called from the kitchen. 

"Not eavesdropping, by the way. I just heard the word waterfowl."

Jack snorted. 

"Go back to your Audubon meetings!" He shouted, interrupting the movie as he always did. 

"No, don't tell him to do that!" David groaned. 

"He comes home with so many bird facts and then _I_ have to hear about them."

"You love my bird facts," Bryan argued, poking his head into the living room. 

"Tell Spot some," Jack suggested with an evil grin. "I bet he'd be real receptive."

David slapped him gently with Possum's fluffy tail. 

"Don't try and get my dad killed, Jack. He baby sits you enough. Be grateful."

Possum meowed in agreement, slapping Jack across the face with one little paw. 

"Good kitty," David said, kissing the cat's fluffy grey head. 

This was an ideal day. 


	9. A Sarah Chapter, because I'm sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going through Stuff right now, so honestly, not having a great time.  
> I really appreciate all of you who comment and interact with me in here, no matter what it is you have to say.  
> It really is one of the few things that consistently puts a smile on my face, and I am so very grateful for every reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of a car accident in this chapter.  
> Also, heterosexuals!?  
> :o

Sarah held her photocopies to her chest and fought off the giggles threatening to escape.

Bryan was oblivious, or at least pretending to be as he chatted with a thin, redheaded woman with the most genuine laugh Sarah had ever heard. 

After only a few moments of watching the two adults talk, Sarah had realized with a little burst of surprise that Bryan was absolutely smitten with this woman. 

Sarah had tagged along with Bryan to the university to use the copier, and was introduced to Professor Hannah Murphy, another journalism professor and the only woman Sarah had _ever_ seen make Bryan _blush_.

It wasn't that Sarah _wasn't_ expecting to find that Bryan had a… lady-friend. After all, her father was a kind man, and he was certainly no recluse, either at home or in public. It made sense that he would be talking to people at work, and some of those people would be women who _weren't_ religious sisters who had taken vows to stay single for life. 

But still, just because it wasn't _unexpected_ didn't mean she had been _expecting it_ either. 

And Sarah certainly wouldn't have thought he'd be so incredibly obvious about it! How Professor Murphy didn't notice Bryan had obviously fallen head over heels for her, Sarah didn't know, though she suspected it might have something to do with reciprocated feelings making Hannah doubt what was so incredibly obvious from an outside perspective. 

Wow, Sarah wished David was here to see this. She couldn't remember ever seeing Bryan look so infatuated with anybody, and it was certainly strange.

Not in a bad way, just strange. 

"That reminds me," Hannah added to the conversation that Sarah had only been half-listening to. 

"Would you be interested in joining some of us faculty in a little social event this weekend? Sunday evening, around seven or eight?"

Sarah didn't miss the nervous hope painted so obviously across Hannah's face when she asked the question. 

Bryan, on the other hand, did seem to miss it, since he shook his head. 

"I'd love to, but the kids and I are busy then. We light the menorah around sunset."

Sarah had no problem admitting to it; she loved Bryan for that. 

He hadn't been born or raised Jewish like she and David, and to some extent Les had, but still their adopted father completely understood and respected the religious traditions the Jacobs family had always held. 

Even if it meant turning down a thinly disguised date with a woman he so obviously liked. 

"Oh, of course. I forgot." Hannah was obviously disappointed, but she hid it well. 

_Forgot_ , Sarah thought to herself. 

Meaning they'd discussed it before, meaning Bryan and Hannah _talked_ , as in actually talked about _important_ things. 

Sarah filed that away in her mind for future reference, wondering exactly how much Hannah knew of the past few months. 

"We're almost done with that though," Sarah piped up. Bryan and Hannah both looked so disappointed, she had to get them to meet up as soon as possible. 

"So if you're doing anything next week, he could meet you there."

Sarah gave Hannah her most charming smile, which was immediately and warmly returned. 

_And this way, it's not a "faculty" get together._

Their home was entirely too filled with testosterone. Sarah didn't want to get her hopes up just yet, but another potential girl in the family was a welcome concept. 

* * *

Sarah waited until they were in the car to speak again. 

"So… Hannah?"

Bryan's face flushed and he fumbled with his seatbelt. 

"What about her?"

Sarah let a giggle escape. 

"That. That's what." She gestured to Bryan's overall appearance of being absolutely twitterpated, as they say in _Bambi_. 

Sarah had always liked that movie, except the hunter part…

"Sarah, I have no idea what you're talking about," Bryan said, having regained his composure and finally started the car. 

"Hannah is a great professor, and a good friend of mine."

" _F_ _riend,"_ Sarah sniffed, teasing her father with a smile. 

"Yes, _friend._ " Bryan said it as if that were the end of the discussion, but Sarah wasn't about to _completely_ let it go. 

"She likes you," Sarah announced after a moment or two of comfortable silence. 

Bryan nearly drove off the road, and Sarah nearly choked on her heart. There was a reason Sarah Jacobs drove like a demon was on her heels; she did _not_ like being in the car one bit. 

Better to get where she was going as fast as possible, so she could get out as soon as possible. 

Too many horrible things could go wrong in a car. Horrible things like hydroplaning or sliding on ice or-

"Sarah, hey." 

They were stopped, Bryan had pulled over and parked on the shoulder of the road. 

"Bryan…"

Sarah didn't like how fragile her voice sounded. She was supposed to be stronger than this. 

"I'm here, honey."

He put an arm around Sarah's shoulders, and she leaned into the embrace, however awkward it was leaning over the gear shift and everything. 

Sarah heaved a sigh and leaned back into her seat after a moment, composing herself again. She wanted to get home and out of the car as soon as possible; there would be time to destress then. 

"I'm good now. We can go." 

Bryan nodded and started the car back up silently. 

"I haven't forgotten, though," Sarah said after a moment. 

"What?" Bryan kept his eyes on the road, so he couldn't see Sarah's playful smile, the stubborn determination to remain happy and keep the negative, scary thoughts far in the back of her mind where they belonged. 

"Your… lady-friend."

" _Sarah!_ "


	10. Ansgts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he sad  
> because i sad  
> and i need to be hapee  
> but i not happee  
> i sad  
> i feel emotion  
> 19 at once  
> big sads all around.

How could a dream be so non-violent, yet so terrifying at the same time? 

Spot had experienced plenty of nightmares, but something about this one was… different. 

He was used to the ones where he got hurt; the ones with angry hands and fists and flames. He wasn't used to just being in a car. Spot liked cars, usually, but this one was the all-too-familiar backseat of Jonathan's PT Cruiser, entirely too clean and nothing but a shuttle to and from horrible places. 

Spot didn't dream about this car, not anymore. That had changed ages ago. 

He was supposed to dream about a green minivan now, hands shoving him in, and then something awful happening, like an explosion or water pouring inside. 

Something he could look at and understand. Spot understood violence all too well. 

He didn't understand the quiet, almost peaceful turn of Bryan's back, away from him, _leaving_ him. 

Spot couldn't follow. He couldn't move, he was stuck. The seatbelt wouldn't unbuckle and he was stuck. 

Stuck and being left alone. 

"Dad? Dad, come back!" 

Spot felt the car start back up, and then Bryan was beside the window, and he left again. Spot reached out, but was ignored. 

"Dad, please!" 

He didn't want to be alone in the car. Not alone. Spot couldn't be alone again. 

Bryan was simultaneously far away in the distance and right in front of Spot, driving Jonathan's car away from other-Bryan, who stared up at the clouds. Probably looking for birds, Spot thought. 

Why were they leaving him? 

The car stopped again, by a house. That house looked familiar, sort of. Dark, empty. 

Spot had lived here before, he was sure of it, but where did all that water come from? 

And why was he alone again? Bryan wasn't supposed to leave him! He promised he wouldn't. He'd promised. 

Spot started to panic. 

Bryan said he loved him. Was it a lie? Spot had been lied to before, everybody lied. 

This was no different.

Nobody would want him. Nobody would love him. 

Racetrack maybe thought he did, but he'd figure it out sooner or later. Spot ruined things. That was what he did.

When had Spot gotten out of the car and why had Bryan left him, and what was that touching his face? 

Something fluffy that kept pushing on his eyes and nose. That made it hard to breathe for sure. 

Why was it so dark? What _was_ the fluffy thing? It was way too dark here, surely? Why was he so - oh. 

"Jenny?" Spot mumbled, wincing at the pain even just sitting up brought. 

He looked around the room, _his_ room. Home. Still home, he wasn't alone. Was he? Jenny was still here, rubbing up against his non-painful side. 

How did she always know? She woke him up from nightmares, she knew what hurt and how to help. 

Spot wondered if that was what having a mom was like, and then he wondered if he was insane to wonder that about his fucking _cat._

He didn't need to wonder. 

Bryan could be both mom and dad. Bryan who wasn't gone and who didn't leave Spot alone. 

Not yet. 

Bryan who was downstairs. Definitely he was downstairs. Spot didn't have to go check. He didn't. 

And yet…

Jenny followed him down the stairs, right on his heels like the silent little tripping hazard she was. 

Spot wasn't quite as silent as Jenny, but he was pretty close. Years of creeping around like the ghost he was expected to be made for a lot of practice. 

Bryan slept downstairs, in the bedroom right next to the stairs. He always kept the door open, welcoming any cats or kids who might want to creep in for whatever reason. 

Spot sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to shift anything too much. Bryan's old cat, Gus, slept on the blanket beside him. 

It was okay, Spot tried to convince himself, wrapping his shoulders in his own blanket. He breathed slowly, in time with Bryan's breathing as the man slept. 

It didn't help. 

Spot rubbed up and down his arms, trying to calm the shivers he couldn't pretend were from cold. 

Spot was very good at lying to himself, and right now, he'd decided that he was cold. What other reason would he be shaking? 

Bryan shifted in his sleep, and Spot started, flailing and landing in an embarrassing heap on the floor with a painful thud. 

"Sean?" 

Bryan was sitting up now, sleepily moving to click on the lamp beside his bed. 

"Sorry, sorry," Spot mumbled, scrambling to his feet. 

"I just…" Spot stopped when he realized he didn't have a good explanation. 

"Hey, come here," Bryan gestured for Spot to sit on the bed next to him. 

Spot sat, stiff and nervous and not sure how to ask for the comfort he so desperately needed. 

"What's wrong?" 

Spot stared at his hands. They weren't shaking today; that was a good thing. 

"Sean?"

Bryan's voice was so soft, so gentle. Spot wanted to lean into that voice, let it wrap around him and just hold all the little pieces together so nothing could fall apart ever again. 

"I'm sorry."

It came out a lot more like a sob than Spot expected, but there they were. 

"Sean, baby, why are you sorry?"

Bryan looked so worried, so _caring_. Spot didn't know what to do with that. The man shouldn't feel like he had to take care of someone like Spot. 

He could get out while it was easy. Before anything was official and legal. 

But how was Spot supposed to say that to Bryan? He'd be hurt, like Spot was calling him a failure. 

There had been plenty of failures in Spot's life, people who promised and then changed their mind, situations that just...didn't work out.

But this was… different. Bryan had seen Spot through so _much_ , and he hadn't sent him away yet. 

Maybe this was real. Maybe. 

Spot leaned into Bryan's arms and said nothing. If he explained why he was sorry, that meant thinking about entirely too many things that he didn't want to think about right now, so he just stayed quiet.

Bryan just sat, rubbing little circles around his back and arms. 

"It's okay, Sean. I've got you."

Spot wasn't crying. Probably he was just allergic to the cat hair on Bryan's blanket. That was it. He was allergic and that was why he kept sniffling, so they'd have to either get rid of the cats, or get rid of Spot, and he knew full well which ones would end up staying and- oh, now he was definitely crying. 

"Shh, shh, it's alright, kiddo. I'm here. I'm here."

_But for how long?_ Spot wondered, burying his face deeper into the man's chest. 

_How long until I'm alone again?_


	11. No title, only hugs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WRITING IS HARD THE END.

Spot wasn't sure exactly how long he sat there, curled into Bryan's embrace and just feeling the steady rhythm of the man's heartbeat calm his racing mind. 

He focused on the sound and only the sound, slow and gentle and constant.

Sure, the logical part of Spot knew that everybody's heart sounded the same, but something about this situation just felt so Bryan-specific. 

Or maybe it was just parent-specific, and Spot was still new enough to the whole "being parent- _ed_ " thing that he confused the two. 

How was Bryan's heartbeat so much louder than his breathing? Surely it should be the other way around, right? 

"Hey." 

Bryan nudged Spot, so softly that he might not have noticed it, except that the man's forearm was now pressed against Spot's stomach, and that _really fucking hurt_. 

Spot whined in pain before he even realized it, pulling away from the uncomfortable pressure on his not-quite-healed incision site. 

"Sorry, sorry," Bryan soothed, shifting exactly right to make the pain stop. 

How did he always _know?_

Spot nestled back into his arms, not quite ready to move for real yet. Was he too big to be curled up on his daddy's lap like a literal toddler? Probably. 

But who cared? Not anyone currently in this room, right?

Spot sighed in contentment, just enjoying the nice, _safe_ feeling. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the little worry, stabbing his thoughts, a whisper of _what if? What next? What about if this all falls through?_

Spot pushed those thoughts down, deep into the locked cubbyhole in the very back of his mind where they belonged. 

Bryan wasn't getting rid of him. 

He wouldn't do that. Spot had to believe he wouldn't. 

"Come on, kiddo." Bryan shifted a bit, moving Spot from the warmth of his arms to the still-pretty-warm air. 

"Let's get you back to bed." 

He ruffled Spot's hair, not really messing it up, just an affectionate touch that meant more than Spot wanted to admit. 

It was just… _nice_ to have people who were tactile but never hurt. Until coming to live here, Spot hadn't really known what he was missing out on. 

He went to get up off the bed, but some part of himself that was in control of itself hesitated.

"Can… can I …"

Spot stopped himself, cursing inwardly at his stupid weak self. 

_Stupid stupid stupid. You are way too old to ask that. Do. Not. Ask._

He choked on the words, but they came out anyway. 

"Can I stay with you? Just tonight?"

Spot grimaced and resisted the urge to duck in shame. He shouldn't be asking that. He wasn't a _baby._ Fourteen was way too old to-

"Sure, kiddo. Here." Bryan shifted to make room for Spot on the bed, laying back and offering an arm out. 

Spot wasn't sure what to do, he had to admit. This wasn't familiar, not at all. Bryan was looking at him, with _That Look,_ the one that held so much pity and sadness that it almost made Spot sick, except for the fact that… it kind of made him feel… good? 

Was he a psycho? Maybe. Maybe he was nuts and an idiot and a lost cause and - oh, this was actually okay. 

Spot would _never_ admit how much of a hugger he'd become. 

Not even when he immediately felt himself calm down the second Bryan pulled him close, because that proved nothing. Spot was still an asshole who didn't need anyone else. 

He definitely did not.

Bryan clicked off the lamp, a comfortable, almost watery-feeling darkness filling up the room.

Spot curled into the crook of Bryan's arm and let himself fall asleep. 

Right here, right now, things were just fine. 

* * *

Spot was genuinely surprised when he woke up. The sun was shining through the curtains, meaning he hadn't had any nightmares to wake him up in a panic. 

Bryan was already out of the room, which was not a surprise, since the man liked to wake up at unreasonable hours, such as 8 AM during winter break. Ridiculous. 

Spot sat up and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. He should probably go get changed out of his pajamas, but that meant going up to his room again. He'd have to walk through the living room and past the kitchen to get to the stairs, and one of those was probably where Bryan currently was. 

Spot would prefer to act like last night hadn't happened, and that was kind of impossible if he wandered past right now. 

Jenny, who was curled up beside him, gave an impressively long yawn and stretched her legs out. 

He reached down to pet her, and immediately panicked. His nose had apparently started bleeding at some point in the night, and now there was blood _all over the sheets_. 

Bryan's sheets. Not Spot's. 

_Bad. Bad. He's going to be pissed._

Nowhere in Spot's panicked mind was the little voice that occasionally reminded him that Bryan didn't freak out about this kind of thing, that he wouldn't be mad and this wouldn't lead to something awful happening. Maybe that part, the rational part of his brain, was still asleep. 

Wherever the rational part of his mind had decided to take a trip to, the irrational part had so _kindly_ agreed to cover Rational Brain's shift at the Running Spot's Stupid Life Factory. 

Spot had no idea how to get dried blood out of sheets. What was he supposed to do? 

Sarah would know. Girls were great with blood. 

Spot kicked his legs off the bed, scooped Jenny onto the floor, and started to unmake the bed. Why was Bryan so _good_ at putting sheets on things? Thank goodness none had gotten on the blankets, they'd be impossible to discreetly drag out of the room. 

Spot bundled up the blankets and pillowcases and slipped out, creeping upstairs to harass poor Sarah about her bodily functions. 


	12. Laundry and angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of past abuse and something that I think might be self-harm? Spot chews on his hands when he gets nervous and I'm realizing I think I subconsciously absorbed that from a different fic which is funny to me. 
> 
> Sorry, I havent updated in awhile due to I'm sad and stressed and my heart still hurts.  
> My guinea pig died today so I actually felt bad enough to sit down and right for awhile to make myself feel better. 
> 
> So yeah. Theres that.  
> Ummm hope u like the chapter?

Sarah had experienced a lot of strange things, both as drum major and first chair tubist for the high school band, and as a sister to countless different children. 

That didn’t mean she wasn’t surprised when Spot wandered into her bedroom dragging a blanket with a concerning amount of blood all over it. 

"Spot?"

Sarah set her book aside and half climbed out of bed to help her little brother. 

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

Spot just looked embarrassed, mainly, which was _probably_ a good sign, right?

"I got a bloody nose," he mumbled. "Don't know how to clean it up…" Spot shifted from one foot to the other.

"You know about blood." 

It was a statement, not a question, and his embarrassed, awkward face was so funny that Sarah burst out laughing in spite of herself. 

"I do know about blood. Come on, let's get that cleaned up." 

On closer inspection, there wasn't really all that much blood on the sheet, just spread out enough to _look_ like a lot. 

Sarah was genuinely and pleasantly surprised to find that Spot actually knew how to use the washing machine. Bryan mostly did the laundry just because he insisted on doing it, a fact that brought endless irritation to David, who was absolutely dead set on being independent sometimes. 

Though he struggled with measuring out laundry soap for some strange reason, Spot more or less knew what he was doing. 

"Okay, bleach, and cold water," Sarah instructed, stepping away to keep Spot from spilling bleach all over her favorite socks. 

"Why cold?" 

Sarah paused before admitting, "I have no idea. My friend's mom taught me that." 

The unspoken fact that Sarah had no mother to teach her hung heavy in the cramped laundry room. 

Bryan was wonderful, of course, but Sarah was allowed to wish for someone… someone who could _explain_ things, wasn't she? 

Spot coughed awkwardly and gestured to the washing machine. 

"How do I turn it on?" 

Sarah pushed the button, the biggest, most obvious one that Spot probably shouldn't have missed, and the machine started whirring away. 

Spot's face turned red, and Sarah held back a laugh. 

She turned to leave, but Spot grabbed her arm, suddenly and obviously nervous. 

"We can't leave, not till it's done."

Sarah sat down on the bench attached to the window, confused but not about to upset Spot. 

"Why?"

Spot chewed at the side of his hand before mumbling out, "he might get mad." 

Oh, _Spot._

"Spot, Bryan won't be mad. It wasn't on purpose." 

Spot didn't look particularly convinced, just fidgety and anxious.

"Alright, we can stay in here," Sarah said softly, wishing she had the right words to make Spot feel better. She just… didn't know what to say. 

Why didn't he trust that he was safe by now? Surely after everything…

Sarah sighed and tugged her phone from her pocket.

She might as well get started on that e-book. It was better than contemplating the only thing her mind wanted to think about right now. 

* * *

Spot sat on the dryer, enjoying the pleasant toastiness of the room and the gentle rumble of the machine. This was nice. Just… nice. 

Sarah didn't feel the need to fill every moment with mindless chatter; she knew how to just sit and be quiet sometimes. 

She was upset at him, though. Spot knew that. He didn't make sense, she couldn't get it, and his freaking out was making a huge inconvenience. 

Thank goodness Sarah was so laid back. 

Spot's mind kept tumbling around from things he _knew_ weren't going to happen and things that _had_ happened and mixing up past and present into a big jumbled mess that was just… scary. 

Spot kicked his leg halfheartedly at the dryer door. 

"People usually get mad about that," he managed to get out, breaking the silence. Sarah looked up from her phone and tilted her head in question.

Spot didn't know how to explain it, not really. Not in a way he wanted to talk about. 

If people could get mad at a four year old, a _baby_ , for messing up the bedsheets, then they could get mad at someone ten years older than that for the same thing. 

When he was little, though, it hadn't been blood, just a nervous little kid in a new house who couldn't quite manage to control his bladder in his sleep. 

Embarrassing, but they shouldn't have been that mad, surely? 

Who got that, well, _pissed_ at a four year old? Spot was very good at being mad, but even he couldn't comprehend hitting a baby over… anything. Definitely not that. 

And really, spanking a kid who had a tendency to pee himself when he got scared was… probably not the best idea. 

Being a kid who'd just lost everything you knew, and then a near stranger grabbed you and started hitting you? Started _hurting_ you? That was scary. Scary enough that maybe you'd panic and just kind of… yeah. That might... happen. 

Spot felt a little burst of satisfaction mixed in with the shame and hurt and fear from that memory. Pissing all over somebody's lap _while_ they slapped you around was pretty good revenge for a literal child, even if it had been entirely reflexive and not at all planned. 

The man hadn't been happy about it, that was for sure. Spot tasted blood and realized he was biting down too hard. The memory of what happened… _after_ that first attempt at punishment by anyone who wasn't his mom or dad was too much. Too much to think about. 

That memory went back in the little box of Things That Did Not Happen Ever, where Spot could lock it away for good. 

Spot kicked the dryer with more force than intended, with a clang-thud that made both him and Sarah jump. 

He winced, but Sarah relaxed almost immediately. 

Spot closed his eyes and bit down on one knuckle, trying very hard not to remember, not to think. 

Everything was fine now. Nobody here was mad. They didn't hit, didn't scream, didn't get angry and punish him for accidents. 

It was okay. 

All that existed was Sarah, this warm room, and a good, safe, wonderful home. The only pain that existed was the tiny pinch from his teeth, and that was fine. 

Spot was fine. 

He'd always be fine. 

He had to be. 


	13. Fire Looks Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Sonofabreach
> 
> Tw for mentions of abuse, smoking, spot is feeling sad and inadequate and idk how to tag that right now.

Spot had a complicated relationship with fire. On the one hand, he quite liked to watch things burn, especially paper. The curling, darkening pages of a book he didn't want anymore was one of the most satisfying things in the world, and no, _David,_ Spot wasn't an arsonist. 

Not very much of an arsonist, at least. Only a little arson, in dumpsters and stuff, which was basically just incineration but early and kind of illegal. 

Spot flicked his lighter off and on, frowning at the little flame. Illegal things got complicated, at least they did when he got caught. Parents didn't like picking their kids up from the police station, and they seemed to like it even less when the kids weren't _theirs._

Spot stared at the little orange tip on the flame and tried not to remember. 

He remembered anyway. Remembered a ten minute car ride of absolute silence from the police station, and how terrifying that was. They should have been yelling…

They didn't yell at all, just said Spot had to be taught a lesson about playing with fire. 

That lesson was the main reason as to why fire was complicated for Spot. 

He rubbed his fingertips together, feeling the callouses that should really be more defined, all things considered. 

He'd never forget how much the lesson hurt. There was a reason why Spot wasn't big on cooking; he'd avoided stoves from the time he was twelve up until… Racetrack, he realized. Two full years of just never learning jack about cooking. Spot hadn't used a stove until that day in the kitchen with Race and his grandma. 

Racetrack was something Spot had never had before. He was… more than just good. He was _important._

Spot wasn't used to people being important, and now suddenly, it seemed like everybody was _._

Spot put out his lighter and set it down, then picked it right back up. 

Nobody was going to make him scared of a tiny flame. It wasn't like fire was dangerous here, right? 

All this new fire was in candles, warm and cozy and only for prayer. 

Good fire. 

The little flame of his cigarette lighter danced in the slight draft, like a bird or a butterfly fluttering around. 

Maybe Bryan would like the bird comparison, but he probably wouldn't like that Spot had stolen his lighter back. Well, then he should get better at hiding things, that was all. 

Wasn't Spot's fault that the man thought setting it on his dresser would keep Spot from getting it. Or maybe it was that he trusted Spot, and expected Spot to respect his decision to take it away, and Spot was currently betraying his dad's trust, probably the first time anyone had _ever_ trusted him-

This was not a train of thought worth taking a trip on today. 

He didn't want to think, but the memories kept swimming up to the top of Spot's mind, and he couldn't manage to drown them. 

Lisa would probably say he shouldn't drown them, that it wasn't a healthy coping mechanism, but what other options were there? 

Think through stuff? Absolutely not, Spot did not feel like doing that right now, no thank you. 

What he wanted was to go downstairs and sit with Bryan again, but that was just a bit too humiliating of an idea. Spot still had some pride left; he didn't need to go crying to daddy every time he felt sad. 

This was more complicated than _sad_ , but Spot could handle it. He just needed a distraction.

For the first time in a long while, Spot found himself really wanting a cigarette, and he didn't like that at all. 

He'd been doing so good about that, hadn't even _wanted to_ since… Spot actually wasn't sure when the last time he'd smoked was, and that was a good thing. He could keep telling himself it was a good thing, but that wasn't going to make his stomach calm down and stop flip-flopping, now was it?

Spot sighed, and decided to make a very bad decision. 

* * *

To be fair, he was being impressively responsible in this particular irresponsibility. Spot even went out into the garage, where it was cold, to smoke the fucking cigarette this time. 

He hated himself the entire time, all too aware what a fuckup he was proving to still be, yet somehow, he couldn't stop. It was like Spot was a windup toy, pre-programmed to flick a lighter and light the cigarette, no matter how numb his fingers got from the cold. 

Spot carefully avoided flicking ash onto the ground. It wasn't _likely_ that anybody would come out here, but if they did, he wanted no evidence left behind. 

_God_ Spot hated himself. 

_Fucking idiot. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Can't keep it together, can you?_

Bryan took his lighter away, but Spot immediately took it back. Bryan told him not to smoke, but of course, Spot couldn't manage that either. Bryan wanted him to eat regularly, but Spot didn't even _try._ After everything his family did for him, Spot couldn't give them the most basic things in return. 

He crushed out his cigarette on a pile of _Wild Bird Magazine_ back issues, watching the little ember smolder on the glossy pages. 

Spot didn't deserve to be here. He didn't deserve a family. He was too fucked up for this life. 

Spot rubbed up and down his arm, doing absolutely nothing to reduce his goosebumps. 

It was too cold out here to be miserable. Might as well go be miserable inside. 


	14. In case of fire, decorate the yard - Alexa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm very lonely so basically if you talk to me, I will probably include that conversation in this story in some way.  
> Proof : the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> Tw 🔥

David had never been a fan of balloons. He didn't like the sounds they made when they rubbed together, and he didn't like static at all, and a room filled with balloons usually had a lot of that. 

Wait, this wasn't even a _room_ ; there was grass under his feet. Who had filled the yard with balloons? And where did all the snow go?

It was really warm out, much warmer than it should be in December. And _where did all these balloons come from_? 

They made it hard to breathe, hard to think. 

"David!" He could hear Sarah, probably lost in the balloon avalanche too. 

How did so many balloons get everywhere? This was going to be a huge pain to clean up. 

Sarah's voice was coming closer. How was she moving through the balloons so _fast_?

"David! Da- _vid!"_

"Sarah?" David mumbled, wiping at his eyes. Possum mewled indignantly from his spot on David's pillow, annoyed at being woken up. Little furball slept like a warm, fluffy rock.

"Get _up_ , David!" Sarah practically yelled, making David want to curl up and hide for all eternity. Back to the balloons, please and thank you. 

Sarah never yelled, and why did it smell like smoke?

Smoke? That didn't make sense. Unless...

"David, the house is on _fire,_ get _up._ "

That was absolutely enough to wake David completely. He hopped out of bed and grabbed Possum, pulling the little cat to his chest. 

"Is Les out? And Spot?"

Sarah grabbed David's hand and jerked him along behind her. 

"Bryan's getting them, now come on," Sarah urged, half dragging David down the stairs. 

His sister had Linda, their shy, hairless cat, wrapped mostly in a blanket and tucked under one arm. Linda was probably never going to forgive that; the sphynx kitty sure knew how to hold a grudge. 

It was cold outside, so cold, especially compared to inside, which was in fact on fire. David figured he should just be grateful the stairs weren't on fire, or how would they have gotten down and outside? 

He stood next to Sarah, barefoot in the snow and shivering, watching their house glow. 

Where were Spot and Les and Bryan? Surely they should be out by now. 

"David, Sarah, come over here." Their neighbor across the street, Mr. Seitz, attempted to wave them over into his yard. David couldn't make his legs move. 

Sarah reached for his hand with her free arm, tugging him away from all the smoke and horrible noise.

They couldn't do anything except watch. 

Finally Spot came stumbling out, but he was alone. Well, alone except for his cat, but Jenny was basically an extension of Spot at this point. 

"Sean, it's Sean, right?" Mr. Seitz tried to help Spot out of the snow and onto his relatively dry porch, but Spot, of course, ignored the help, scrambling up the slippery steps on his own.

He nodded slowly, staring back at the house. Jenny meowed from his arms, ears pinned back so firmly against her little head, it looked like she didn't have ears at all. 

"Spot, where are Bryan and Les?" David grabbed his brother's arm to get his attention. 

Spot started to shake, probably both from cold and fear combined. David let go and stepped away. 

"He wouldn't wake up, Dad's carrying him. Smoke…" Spot half fell into Sarah's offered hug, trembling like a leaf. 

To David, Sarah was obviously faking the whole "not scared out of her wits" thing, but to Spot, their sister probably seemed like she was actually in control of herself, at the very least. 

Somebody, probably a neighbor, must have called the fire department, thank goodness, but David definitely did not appreciate the noise and insanity, and just wanted to scream. Possum snuggled close into his shirt, and the soft, warm little body was the one thing keeping David functional. 

Spot was crying quietly, and clearly trying to pretend like he wasn't. 

Bryan came out of the house carrying Les, and David felt such relief that he somehow wound up sitting on the ground. 

Someone handed him a blanket, either Mr. Seitz or one of the firemen, and David wrapped it around Possum and himself, specifically his feet. 

Bryan set Les down, still supporting him almost completely, and joined them on the porch. The little boy coughed raggedy, leaning heavily on Bryan's side. 

"Everyone alright?"

He looked around, waiting for confirmation from everyone. Spot was the only one not to respond, just clutching Jenny to his chest and shaking. 

"Sean? Sean, are you okay?" Spot nodded, still hiding his face in Sarah's shirt. 

"Alright." 

Bryan put one arm around David's shoulders and gently turned him away from the house. 

"Bryan, bring your kids inside," Mr. Seitz offered, gesturing at the door. 

"It's much too cold out here."

"Thank you, Henry." 

Mr. Seitz nodded, holding the door open for them to crowd into his warm house.

Finally, everyone was settled in the man's living room, curled up on one sofa in a pile. Cramped, but warm, and everyone was there and safe. 

David didn't want to think about the fact that they were missing two cats, so he just didn't think. He leaned on Sarah, and she leaned back. 

Les coughed, and coughed again, choking and rasping, no doubt from the smoke. David jolted fully awake from his half-asleep stupor as his little brother started heaving and gasping for breath. 

"I'll go get help," Mr. Seitz said, dashing outside into the cold and craziness. 

And just like that, David was fairly certain the world was ending. 


	15. Skittery half-chapter!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isnt a Skittery/Dutchy ship, unless I decide its cute, so for now they're bros and will stay bros.  
> Bros being dudes. 
> 
> Also, i dont care to research how the law "actually works" any more than I already have, so they can foster a child together if they want to.

Spot paced their neighbor's living room, one wall to the other and then back again. This was all his fault. If he hadn't been fucking smoking in the garage, hadn't put the fucking cigarette out on a stack of magazines like an idiot, this would never have happened.

Les was hurt, because of him. They'd never forgive Spot for this. Sooner or later, the police or the fire department or whoever it was that was in charge of this kind of thing would figure out what started the fire, and everyone would know.

Bryan would know it was Spot who had done it, and he'd be gone. Nobody in their right mind would keep him around after this, and the fact that Spot's immediate first concern was about himself, and not his brother in the fucking hospital, just showed how much he didn't deserve to be here.

They shouldn't forgive him. What if Les died? Spot would _never_ forgive himself. _Never._

"Spot, come sit." Sarah's voice was quiet enough that Spot could hardly hear it, but the sudden noise still made him jump. He ignored her, of course, because if he sat down, he'd probably explode. Which was kind of what the house did, except not really, but that was all Spot could think about now.

Their neighbor, Mr. Seitz, had left them alone after entirely too much concerned hovering that made Spot want to burn his house down too. That might be a good distraction, and maybe it would wake David up and he'd be annoying and Spot wouldn't have to think about how badly he'd fucked everything up.

"Spot, come on, sit with us," Sarah urged again, gesturing to the heap that was David, curled up fast asleep on her side. How had he managed to fall asleep now?

Now, while everything was awful and it was all Spot's fault, and he was proving yet again that he couldn't do anything right and he would always be a fuckup and- The door to the house opened, and Spot tripped on his own feet in surprise.

It was Bryan, and he was alone. Sarah's calm, reassuring composure was gone in an instant. She made a strangled choking noise from the back of her throat, jostling David awake in the process.

He blinked sleepily, then twitched at the realization that Les wasn't there. He wasn't there. David curled into Sarah's side like a wilting leaf, white as a sheet.

Bryan was there, and Les wasn't, and Spot felt his legs start to shake and the room start to spin because he killed his fucking brother- "He's fine, he's fine," Bryan said hurriedly, and Spot felt his knees just give out. He sat down on the floor like it was on purpose. He meant to sit here. 

_Fine. Fine. Les is fine_. "They just want him to stay the night." Bryan explained, taking David's hands and rubbing little circles to calm him down.

"We're going to head to a hotel for the next couple of days, until I can find something a little more stable."

Spot's stomach flipped just a tiny bit at that phrasing. It didn't mean anything now, but he was so used to "until they find something more stable" meaning "Spot gets moved around suddenly and quickly and without any warning," and he really did not like when that happened.

To be fair, that _was_ kind of what it meant right now, but this time, the moving around wouldn't be by himself. Everybody would be moving around, and they'd be together.

Spot could handle this. Maybe nobody would even have to know that it was all his fault.

* * *

Why did all the awful stuff happen to the great people?

Skittery shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he walked out of the hospital and into the cold, nearly dawn air.

That family just could not catch a break, could they? First poor Spot's own body was betraying him, and then his parents, and now this.

At least Les was alright, just staying one night for observation. Skittery climbed into his car, thankful at his quickly the heater got itself started. Les had seemed positively chipper compared to Spot during his stay at the hospital, as if this was all just a slightly scary adventure, and not a traumatic event.

That, Skittery thought to himself, was the difference having a family made. Les had always been safe, so he felt safe always. Spot hadn't been so lucky.

A red light gave Skittery a moment to click on his radio, just to keep from being alone with his thoughts, which of course, came anyway, mixed in with the classical music station he'd had on hours ago.

Spot should have been safe. Everybody should have.

Sure, he was safe now, but how many kids weren't? How many kids were just like Spot? Just like Skittery had been?

And that got him thinking. The apartment had a spare room. His roommate probably wouldn't be opposed, and if he was, Skittery was more than capable of moving into his own place...

He pulled into his space in the parkinh lot and sat for a moment, watching the naked trees sway just a little in the breeze.

The sidewalk was slippery, like usual, because nobody except Skittery or Dutchy, his roommate, ever bothered to salt it. Why the entire apartment complex decided to rely on the nurse and the vet tech, probably the two residents with the least predictable schedules, to salt the walkway was a mystery.

But Skittery made his way along the precarious sidewalk, up the thankfully not icy steps, and into the warm hallway. The inside steps, logically, weren't iced at all, so he didn't have to carefully inch up to keep from falling flat on his ass.

Skittery opened the door to the apartment and was greeted by the familiar sight of his roommate, Dutchy, watching National Geographic documentaries for probably the three hundredth time, in spite of the fact that it was nearly five in the morning. 

"Hey, Dutch, I've got an idea to run by you." Skittery hung his coat up in the closet. "Shoot," Dutchy said without tearing his eyes from the troop of Gibbons onscreen.

"What would you say to having kids?" And with a thud, Dutchy fell off the couch.


	16. No title because I dont feel like it.

Spot didn't have a lot of experience with hotels. He'd never really been the kind of kid people particularly wanted to bring along on family vacations; they mostly just wanted to dump him on someone else, like they'd do with a dog. 

Thank goodness Mr. Seitz, the neighbor Spot had, before tonight, not known existed, was a cat person and more than willing to suddenly babysit theirs. Well, the ones who were accounted for. 

Lenny and Gus were still missing, a fact that Spot did not want to think about. 

He distracted himself by taking in the room, and comparing it to the few memories he had of being in different hotel rooms.

His Mama and Daddy had kept him in a hotel once. Spot remembered that, though faintly. He remembered that it smelled like cat piss and mold, and people were always going in and out. 

This hotel room was not at all like that. It was bigger, for one thing, with two double beds and a pullout sofa, and it was far cleaner.

"Alright, we can put Sean and David on one bed, and once Les is here, he can share the other with Sarah," Bryan said, taking control and immediately making everything infinitely less horrible and terrifying. 

"I'll use the couch," Sarah said, shooting Spot what probably was supposed to be a discreet look. 

He had to wonder what that was about, but at the moment, that was kind of hard to do. 

Spot very much felt like falling over and going to sleep that second, but he should probably go over to the bed first…

Spot flopped heavily onto the edge of the bed, leaning half on the wall. 

Bryan looked at his watch, which apparently he slept in. 

"I should go back to the hospital to check on Les one more time. I've got an hour before visiting ends." 

He put one hand on David's shoulder.

"You'll be okay?"

David nodded slowly before sitting down next to Spot. He was pretty clearly not enjoying all the fuss, and looked pretty damn close to just shutting down. 

Spot really hoped the quiet hotel room would keep that from happening. 

Of course, Bryan leaving made _him_ want to shut down. 

He knew Bryan had to be with Les. He _knew_ that. The hospital was terrifying, and Spot had hated being alone there. Even with Skittery it was hard, and Les didn't know _him_ , so he really did need Bryan. 

But then there was the selfish, horrible part of Spot that wanted Bryan to stay here anyway, because _he_ wanted to be with him. That part and the part that loved his brother were fighting each other internally, and all in all just giving Spot a headache. 

"Hey." Bryan's soft, tired voice soothed his aching mind like someone was massaging the pain away. 

"It's alright, Sean. I'll be back soon." 

Spot nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

"If Skittery's there, tell him I said Hi. And if he fucks with Les, I'll kill him."

"Language," Bryan scolded, but without a trace of harshness. 

He turned to talk to Sarah, which, because it didn't involve Spot, and because he was very very tired, he tuned out and flopped over on the bed instead. 

David curled up next to him, a bit closer than Spot would have expected, but he wasn't complaining. It was cold, that was all. He didn't _need_ someone close. That would be stupid. 

At some point, Spot was aware of Bryan leaving the room, though he pretended not to be aware of that anyway. 

He didn't want to be aware of anything at the moment, so the only real option was to go to sleep. 

* * *

Sarah knew she _should_ be tired, having woken up suddenly to run out of a burning building, but she just wasn't. 

She didn't exactly feel like doing anything, but sleep didn't sound like a good idea either. 

David and Spot were asleep, curled up adorably like kittens with their backs just barely touching. That was kind of the reason Sarah insisted on taking the pullout couch; she knew full well that wherever Bryan slept, Spot was probably going to also end up at some point during the night. 

Sarah heard him wandering at night sometimes, usually creeping downstairs where Bryan's room was. 

The hotel couch was comfortable enough, but not big enough for two people if Spot needed comfort at night. 

Sarah wasn't stupid, and she knew her brothers well. 

She also knew that _logically_ she should try and get some sleep, but since when had the human brain been known for real, genuine logic? 

Sarah reached for the blanket she'd claimed, wrapping it around her shoulders. The whole room smelled just a bit like smoke, probably from everyone's clothes and hair. 

It was nice to have a bit of peace and quiet though. David and Spot were fast asleep, and Sarah had the room to herself for now. 

She snuggled deeper into her blanket, leaning against the side of the couch. This entire situation was less than ideal, sure, but Sarah couldn't exactly do much about it, so she might as well let herself rest. 

Les would be fine, and Bryan had things under control. 


	17. Am Soft 4 This Fam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have  
> So many evil plans  
> So for now, Spot is getting some snuggles, before I hurt him again.

Les was released from the hospital at around noon, and of course, was bouncing off the walls excited, now that he wasn't confined to a bed. 

Spot almost felt bad for the nurses and doctors who'd had to deal with that level of energy all night, but then reminded himself that doctors and nurses went to school and got degrees to cut people open and stick them with needles. 

Psychopaths, all of them, and none deserved Spot's sympathy. 

Spot curled closer into Bryan's side, where he was currently snuggled up to keep warm, and only to keep warm. 

No other reasons. 

The man had one arm around Spot's shoulders, and with the other one was doing something on his phone, which, thankfully, had made it out of the house in one piece. He was probably trying to figure out _what,_ exactly, their next step was, because so far, nobody had even thought about it beyond "Make Sure Les Is Ok."

Some charity, Spot wasn't sure which, had given them clothes that weren't smoke-covered pajamas, but the entire family couldn't exactly stay in this hotel indefinitely. 

David was annoyed at wearing clothes that weren't his, Les was annoyed at being cooped up, Spot was always annoyed, and Sarah was annoyed at dealing with them. 

All in all, there was a lot of arguing going on, the kind of arguing where everyone got pissed about tiny things and then blew up. 

Things like "Les, quit poking me," and "Why? I missed you, David," and "Fucking hell, _shut up,_ both of you " and "Sean, watch it, _now_."

Spot wasn't used to having Bryan scold him, and he definitely didn't like it. Admittedly, not liking it was probably the point, but still. 

If Bryan could get mad at him about that, then surely he could and would be absolutely furious to hear that the entire situation was all Spot's fault. 

He was going to find out eventually, Spot realized painfully. He'd find out, and Spot would be screwed. 

Spot nestled himself more firmly into Bryan's side, trying not to think about how easily he could lose this. Lose the only real family he'd ever had. 

God, he wanted to cry again. Why was that suddenly the automatic reaction to _everything?_

He hadn't been much of a crier before, but suddenly, Spot was soft. 

Soft enough that he had to wonder, would he even survive moving again? There were only so many homes out there, only so many people willing to take someone as fucked up as him. 

"I'm going for a walk," Sarah announced to the otherwise awkwardly silent room. 

"Anyone want to join me?"

Spot heard Les bounce to his feet and start chattering, and David softly saying he'd come too. 

Why they wanted to go outside now, when it was absolutely freezing, Spot didn't know, but he was vaguely aware of the others, with the obvious exception of Bryan, leaving the room.

Bryan nudged him gently. "Sean? You awake?" 

Spot kept his breathing the same. Whatever conversation Bryan wanted to have, Spot knew _he_ didn't want to have it right now. 

Bryan didn't push him, apparently assuming he was asleep. Spot was surprised when the man started talking, apparently into his phone. 

"Hey, Hannah." _Hannah?_

"We're all doing fine. A bit crowded, but fine." 

Spot didn't know anyone named Hannah, and Bryan sounded pretty friendly with whoever it was. 

The man paused, presumably to listen to this _Hannah_ person's response. 

He laughed softly. 

"No, I'm just glad everyone's safe. Almost everyone," he corrected himself. 

"We're missing a pair of cats, unfortunately."

Spot couldn't make out any specific words, but he heard the woman on the other end titter in sympathy before continuing the conversation. Who was this woman, and why was Bryan keeping her a secret?

Spot didn't like people keeping secrets from him.

"He's asleep right now." 

Spot fought the instinct to twitch at that. Whoever this was on the phone, they knew who he was, and were asking about him. 

"He wanted to cuddle," Bryan went on, petting at Spot's hair absently. It felt nice, and Spot hoped he wouldn't stop any time soon. 

"And I'm not going to say no, not after everything."

Another pause, which gave Spot time to think about that comment. He didn't know what to think, in all honesty. 

"God, when his social worker dropped him off, I don't think I've ever seen such an angry kid. He picked a fight on his first day of school, and there I was, trying to figure out what _exactly_ I'd gotten myself into." Bryan laughed softly, and Spot felt his face heat up with shame. Bryan had regretted him that quickly? 

"No, no regrets," he said, as if reading Spot's mind. 

"One of mine now. Almost official, finally. We've come so far. I can't-" Bryan choked a bit on his words. "God, I'm so proud of this kid." 

Spot smiled, and didn't even try to stop it. After all, it wasn't like anyone was there to see it.

"The social worker, his name's Jonathan, a real piece of work, that man, but he's doing his best this time. He's a little worried about what Sean's parents are going to do, since they're apparently convinced I 'stole their baby.'" 

Bryan snorted. "As if those sorry excuses for people…" he trailed off, and Spot snuggled a little bit closer into the crook of Bryan's arm. 

"That man tried to put his hands on their son, on _my_ son, and they let him do it." 

_Daniel._ Just thinking about him made Spot feel sick. Or maybe he just felt sick because he hadn't taken his meds today. That was it. It was just crohns disease, not _Emotions._

The man's hold on Spot tightened a bit, but not so much that it would be uncomfortable. 

Just nice. Spot liked it. He liked being Bryan's son. 

He liked having someone to hold him and be annoyingly caring, and make everything just…okay. 

What was he going to do if he lost this?  
  



	18. Bryan is Sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw mentions of abuse, violence, etc  
> I got a bunny the other day, his name is JoJo and I love him with all my heart.

Bryan kept his arm around Sean, letting the sleepy boy curl up for whatever comfort he needed. The poor kid had missed out on a lot of love, the kind of love that formed kids from the very start. 

He ran a hand through the boy's hair, feeling the ever so slight flatness of his head, not quite enough to be visibly noticeable. 

Thoughts of a little baby Sean, left forgotten and neglected in a car seat or bed (or more likely, just left on the floor) tangled around Bryan's heart like barbed wire. 

Sean sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to Bryan's side. At least he was safe now. Safe and loved and cared for. 

And yet… 

Was he _really_ safe? The house had caught fire. He could have so easily been hurt...

Bryan ran a hand down the boy's side, feeling his ribs, so much less prominent than before. He wasn't hurt. Nobody had gotten hurt. 

Or at least, almost nobody. Les' cat Lenny was missing, and his cat, Gus. 

Bryan had had Gus since senior year of college, which was where he'd also met Jonathan. 

The man had been significantly less annoying back then; still a bit nit-picky, but willing to tolerate when one of his older roommates brought home a stray kitten and insisted they were going to keep it in a house that technically didn't allow pets. 

He'd even helped out with bottle-feeding tiny little Gus once or twice, if Bryan recalled correctly. 

How could a person change _that_ much? 

Bryan knew Jonathan didn't have an easy job. Of course he knew that. They'd never been _best_ friends, what with Bryan being a senior and Jonathan being just his roommate's little brother, a freshman who'd moved into their off-campus rental house. 

But still, he liked to think he knew the man somewhat well. 

He'd heard when Jonathan graduated, even been invited to the ceremony, but work and the very first foster baby (Milo, who'd been adopted into a wonderful family fairly quickly) had gotten in the way. 

And Bryan remembered when Jonathan was assigned that first case, how nervous he was. 

It had been a little boy. Four years old, a malnourished little twig. That sounded painfully familiar. Almost familiar enough to make Bryan wonder.

_No, no, it couldn't have been._

Jonathan never used names when he talked about his work, for the obvious legal reasons, so Bryan couldn't be certain… 

But the timing worked; when Sean was four, he'd been removed from his parents' "care". Jonathan would have just gotten his job around that time. 

Had that boy been Sean? That first case… Bryan tightened his hold protectively on Sean's thin shoulders. 

How close had he passed the boy by, all those years ago? Could Sean have been placed with him? How much pain and hurt could he have saved this child from, if he'd only been there sooner?

Sean shifted, blinking sleepily as he woke up, probably as a result of being accidentally squeezed. 

"Hey, kiddo," Bryan said softly, brushing the boy's shaggy hair from his face. He'd never allow it, but it really needed to be cut. 

He made a half grunting, half humming sound, then buried his face in Bryan's side. 

"M'sorry."

Bryan rubbed his back in little circles. 

"Why are you sorry?"

Sean had gone from "Unapologetic Little Gremlin Jerk" to "Constantly Sorry For Existing" in a matter of months. 

"I'm a fuckup." 

"Hey, now. None of that," Bryan said firmly, sitting up to face the boy properly. 

"You're a good kid, alright? My good boy." 

Bryan gave Sean's shoulders a playful little shake, hoping to bring out a rare smile. 

"No," the boy whined pathetically, pressing his face into Bryan's shirt. 

"Bad." 

Bryan's heart broke just the tiniest bit. 

"You're not _bad_ , Sean." 

The boy made a little huffing sound, burrowing deeper into Bryan's arms to hide away from the world. 

"Am."

" _No,_ " Bryan said firmly, pulling Sean away from his chest to force something resembling eye contact. 

"You aren't. You're a good kid who's been through hell and back. But you came out of that, Sean."

He took the boy's hands in his and squeezed them gently for emphasis. 

"You came through all that, and you _are_ my good boy." 

Sean frowned, clearly not believing him. 

Bryan gently tweaked his nose, but this time, the gesture didn't bring the indignation it usually did. Just a blank, confused look from a boy who looked almost frightened. 

"What's wrong, Sean?" 

Something was going on, and Bryan intended to find out what. 

Sean's eyes darted to the ceiling, the wall, the door, and finally settled on his hands, clenched into painfully tight fists in his lap. 

"Promise not to hate me?"

_Oh, God what happened?_

"Of course, baby, but what happened?"

Bryan prodded gently for any information he might get. 

"Promise." 

The stubborn side of Sean's personality poked out just a bit, the side that most likely would flat out refuse to speak another word until he got his promise. 

"I promise, no matter what you tell me, I will not hate you."

Sean nodded, and then mumbled something Bryan couldn't hear. 

"What?" 

Another mumble, and Bryan gently tilted the boy's chin so he was looking up. His frosty blue eyes darted to the side, away from Bryan's gaze, and he shook free from the touch. 

"It's my fault," he snapped out, suddenly angry. 

"What's your fault?" Bryan had no idea what they were talking about. 

Sean gestured around the room. 

" _T_ _his_. The house. The fire. Everything."

"Oh, _Sean,_ " Bryan sighed, dragging a hand across his face. Where to even begin with a thought like that? 

"It isn't your fault." He reached to put an arm around his shoulders. "None of it-"

Bryan was interrupted mid sentence by a sudden thrash of the boy's arm, snaking out across his face painfully. 

Bryan recoiled in shock, grabbing Sean's arm before he could do it again, smacking his hand lightly, the kind of thing someone might do if a baby reached for the outlet and mom or dad panicked. 

Impulse. An instinctive reaction of _stop, danger, don't._

Just once, very light, but Bryan hated himself immediately. He'd never once hit one of the kids. Never. 

_Bad_ , Sean's voice whimpered in his mind, a tight cord choking Bryan's heart. His boy thought he was bad, and here Bryan was, confirming those fears with force. 

"Sean, I-"

He had no excuse. There was none. 

"I'm so, _so_ sorry." 

Sean stared at him, no real fear in his eyes. Just confusion.

"You barely touched me."

"What?"

"I hurt you," Sean stated flatly. "You didn't hurt me back." 

He held out his hand, and sure enough, nothing. Not a single mark. 

That did not make it okay. 

Not at all. 


	19. Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of past abuse  
> Spot has 0 self love whatsoever

Spot wrapped his arms tight around his knees. It hurt to curl up like that, but he knew he deserved it. Bryan wasn't going to punish him as much as he should, so Spot had better just do it himself. 

Three long scratches traced down the man's face, but he still didn't _do_ anything. 

He must just be waiting for Spot to calm down, make sure he didn't fight it when it came. That must be it. He'd punish him soon, once Spot was ready for it.

He didn't like it, but it was fair. This was a fair thing to really go off on Spot for. He wouldn't try to stop whatever punishment Bryan thought he deserved, and maybe he could even keep from yelling when it hurt. He could try, at least. 

It was the least he could do, when Bryan was being so nice about it, letting him calm down and get himself ready. 

"Hey, Sean, what's wrong?" 

Bryan gently, _so_ very gently put a hand on Spot's arm. 

"Kid, you're shaking." Was he? Fuck, Spot was supposed to be brave this time. 

"Can you just… get it over with?"

Spot stared at his hands, too afraid of what he'd see if he looked Bryan in the eye. 

"Get what over with?" Spot glanced up for just a moment, checking to see if Bryan was just messing with him, pretending to be confused so Spot would be surprised when the blow finally did come. 

He didn't look to be faking. 

Spot wiggled uncomfortably where he sat. Maybe Bryan would hit him that kind of way. That was… okay. A few slaps to his backside wouldn't be so bad, assuming there was no belt involved, and Bryan was just wearing sweatpants right now, so no belt. Embarrassing more than painful that way. 

That seemed like it might be a little more like Bryan's style… 

No, it still didn't. 

At least it was kind of like love. Right? He was supposed to be punished for this, Spot told himself. Even if it was scary, he could handle it. Bryan loved him, and sometimes that was what… Fuck. He just couldn't convince himself. 

Bryan just _wasn't_ the kind of man to hit anybody. 

He was still waiting for Spot to answer, wasn't he?

"I'm ready," he rushed out, trying to figure out what Bryan wanted. Should he move to make it easier? Spot was much more practiced at making this kind of thing harder on everyone involved; he didn't know _how_ to be compliant. 

"I can take it now. Whatever you gotta-" 

"Sean, _what_ are you talking about?"

He put his hands on Spot's shoulders. 

Spot didn't want to say it. He wanted to keep giving vague references, because if he tried to actually say _that_ , he'd choke on his own fucking tongue. 

It _would_ be okay. It had to be okay because he already _was_ okay, and that wasn't going to change, because he'd had worse happen and at least this time it was fair and okay and from someone who loved him, and _no,_ he wasn't crying already, before anything had even happened. 

"Honey, please, I need you to talk to me," Bryan pleaded, trying to hug him again. Spot pushed him away, wondering if he was digging the hole even deeper in doing so. 

"I can't help if you don't tell me." 

Spot choked on what absolutely was not a sob, wanting nothing more than to reach out and take the hug Bryan was offering. 

He wasn't supposed to, surely. He didn't deserve it. 

Bryan should be hitting him. Why wasn't he? Spot hated the waiting more than anything. He needed to _know_. Know just how much Bryan could give, how much he could take. 

"Dad, I can't _stand it_ ," he finally wailed, trying desperately to control the shaking and tears, but they kept coming. 

"Please, just _hit me_ , get it over with!"

"Oh, _Sean_."

Bryan pulled him into a hug, and for a split second, Spot felt panic rise in his throat at the touch. He struggled, but Bryan kept a firm grip, not squeezing or choking, just holding. 

Spot stopped squirming and sat frozen. 

"Sean, baby, I am not going to hit you. Never again." Bryan cradled Spot's head like he was a baby, thankfully calming the racing of his mind. 

"I am so sorry I scared you."

Spot buried his face in Bryan's shoulder, wiggling to put his arms around the man's neck. 

The effort to keep breathing at all left him heaving as Bryan rubbed one hand in between his shoulders and the other up and down the small of his back. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay, " he soothed, the quiet little shushing noises keeping Spot from falling apart. 

"Daddy, daddy, I'm sorry," Spot sobbed, hiding his face in Bryan's shirt. The position was beyond awkward, half kneeling, half sitting, and probably more uncomfortable for Bryan, who had a fucking 14 year old acting like a literal _baby_ on his lap. 

"It's alright, kiddo. You don't have to be sorry." 

Except he did have to. Spot fucked up everything. They were living in a hotel because of him, and maybe two of the cats were dead, but they didn't even know for sure, and Bryan felt guilty for _scaring him,_ when Spot had left three long red scratch marks down the side of his face. 

Bryan started singing, soft and low, the kind of singing that sounded like this hug felt. He rocked Spot back and forth, still singing and rubbing his back gently until finally Spot calmed down enough to stop clinging like a desperate baby monkey. 

He shifted again, sliding so his head rested on Bryan's legs. 

It was okay. 

He'd been more than a little bit of an idiot, Spot realized, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. Bryan wasn't going to hit him. The man could hardly handle _lightly_ tapping his hand, he felt so guilty about it. 

He deserved to know. Spot would be safe, whatever he said. He had to believe that. Bryan wouldn't hurt him, not even if he told about the cigarette and the garage and the house…

Spot had to tell him. 

"Dad?" He avoided Bryan's eyes. 

"I gotta tell you something."


	20. Yall are gonna HATE me :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance.

David was incredibly confused, and he did not like it one bit. 

They came "home" from their walk, and immediately, Bryan rushed out the door, saying something about having to talk to Jonathan, and he'd be back as soon as possible. 

That had been four hours ago, and Spot still insisted on locking himself in the bathroom and not talking to anybody. 

He had now been in the shower for two of those four hours, and David was beginning to wonder when exactly the hotel was going to run out of hot water. 

He watched the steam continue to slip out under the bathroom door, and briefly considered knocking to check on Spot, but decided to choose life, and not do that. 

Death just didn't sound like a good plan to David right now. 

Les bounced on the bed right beside him, probably to get attention, but David was preoccupied with Fussing and Worrying at that particular moment. 

"David. David. David." Les continued his bouncing. 

"Da-vid!" He stopped bouncing and flopped half into David's lap. 

David sighed, turning to give his brother the attention he so obviously wanted. 

"Can I help you?" 

Les sighed dramatically. "I'm bored."

"Hi bored, I'm David."

Les groaned. "That's so _dumb_."

"That's not very nice." David poked him in the belly. "I've had that name for sixteen years; why didn't you say something before now?"

Les giggled, beating David over the head with a pillow. Such injustice could not be ignored, and Sarah was just laughing at them, so David took matters into his own hands.

He'd taught Les everything the boy knew about pillow fights; how dare he presume to be able to defeat the master?

Les had energy, but David was efficient, and had the advantage of being significantly bigger than his brother. 

Soon enough the bed was a mess, Les was laughing, and David managed to forget how nervous he was. 

It was too good, too happy to last. 

Bryan opened the door, followed by Jonathan and… a policeman. David felt his heart jump straight up his chest, maybe into his throat, which would explain why he couldn't breathe all of a sudden. 

He dropped the pillow, and his brain blanked. 

They were talking, he knew that. Sarah was asking something, and Jonathan answered. 

David had to pay attention.

Bryan cleared his throat, the sound turning David's brain back on. "Sean's going to be- he's going to be moved somewhere else for a little while."

"What?" Les sounded like he might cry, and then he did start crying, before Bryan could even respond. 

"Why?" Sarah sounded less like she was going to cry and more like she was going to commit two very specific murders of every adult who wasn't Bryan, and maybe even include Bryan if he tried to stop her. 

David looked to the police officer. They'd better not be arresting his brother for something stupid. 

"He's not in trouble," Jonathan tried to assure him, apparently noting the way David stared at the _stupid fucking cop they'd brought in._ That wasn't going to scare Spot at _all._

Was it just him, or was the hotel room smaller than it had been a few minutes ago?

"It's just… some people think Sean would be safer with someone who can handle him a bit better." 

Sarah's eyes flashed, and Jonathan took a step back, still intimidated despite having a good six inches on the girl. 

"We are his _family_ ," she snapped. " _Why_ should he go somewhere else?" 

David had never heard his sister sound so angry. Had the room been this stuffy before? 

"Sarah-" Bryan sounded close to tears. Sarah turned on him. "Why aren't you _doing_ anything?" 

Les was still crying. David wanted to run, he didn't care where. Just away. 

They were all still talking, half shouting in Sarah's case. 

The shower turned off, which meant Spot was going to come out, and he was going to be upset, and it would get louder and louder and David _shouldn't_ care so much about the noise when his brother was being taken away but he couldn't help it. 

"Dad?" 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Spot was out. He stared at Bryan. 

"Daddy, what's going on?" His eyes darted to Jonathan and the police officer, and he started to shake. 

"I didn't-" he stumbled back when Bryan moved towards him. 

David covered his ears, but it didn't make anything better. This wasn't really a noise problem. 

"I didn't mean to, it was an accident, Dad, please, no-" 

"Sean," Jonathan interrupted gently. "He didn't. Your dad still wants you, we just have to figure some things-"

"No!" Spot started to cry. "Please, Dad, please don't." 

Some part of David was aware that he'd started to rock back and forth on the bed, but he couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to. 

Someone was screaming, was it Spot or Les? Whoever it was, David couldn't stand it. He curled up in a tight ball, tight enough to hurt, and put his head between his knees. He couldn't rock like this, though. He was being crushed. David shook like Spot did, shudders and shivers all over his body. 

Someone was talking to him, maybe Sarah, but maybe not. Maybe the screaming was still there, and maybe not. Maybe it was all in David's head.

Slowly, slowly, the horrible, strangling, squeezing fog faded, and David could sort of think. He could think about how Spot was being taken away. Where? Where was he going? How long? _Why?_

"David, honey, it's okay." Bryan was talking. David didn't want to look at him. He shouldn't be making this about _him_ , not when Spot was… what was Spot doing? David forced himself to move, brushing against Sarah in the process and immediately regretting it. 

Bryan had Spot by the shoulders, but he wasn't trying to get away. He was just staring, breathing heavily and so clearly trying to stop crying. 

"I don't mean to be harsh, but we need to hurry this up."

If Sarah decided to kill the policeman, David would be on her side without hesitation. 

"Can the kids have a minute?"

Thank God for Jonathan.

David struggled to his feet with the help of Sarah. 

He faced Spot, no idea what to do. Sarah pulled Spot into a hug, and he whimpered, barely enough for David to hear. 

David joined the hug, even though the touch made him want to die.

He could feel miserable later; right now, he had to hug his brother. 

Les was there somewhere, and Bryan joined hesitantly, a big warm hug that was so _so_ awful. 

Spot was going away, again, and who knew where or for how long or if he'd be safe. 

David was sure everyone was crying. He could feel Bryan shaking, Les hadn't stopped crying, and Sarah had a heart, so she certainly was crying by now. 

Once the hug ended, Spot would leave. And it did end, though David would have chosen to have it go on forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr @godshumbleclown or @maggs-is-a-muppet


	21. The angst is strong with this one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter got tons of comments and that made me happy, so I wrote this one way faster.  
> I'm so sorry, Spotty.
> 
> "ACAB" - Jonathan

At least when Sean first arrived at their home, he'd carried a bag with him. Now, with no belongings, not even a jacket to keep warm in the winter cold, he was completely and totally alone. 

Bryan's heart broke into more pieces every second. 

Goodbyes were said, horrible, horrible goodbyes, and then Bryan took Sean out to Jonathan's car.

The boy shivered at the cold the moment he stepped outside, still leaning on Bryan enough that he was practically being carried. 

Why was he so calm? Bryan had expected more of a fit, if he was being completely honest. Maybe this was just shock. 

He got the expected reaction when Jonathan opened the car door and gestured for Sean to get in. 

Sean's breath hitched audibly, and he started squirming backwards, away from the car. 

"No, no, no, no," he mumbled, eyes darting for an escape. The policeman stepped towards them, ready to trap a frightened child if he needed. 

That was the whole point of the officer. Sean was a runner, and they all knew it. 

Bryan put an arm around his shoulders before it would come to that. He didn't want a stranger manhandling his boy. Sean looked up at him, all the trust from just hours before gone. He only looked scared. 

Bryan wrapped his son into a last hug, entirely too aware that he had no idea when the next time he could do so would be. 

The boy whimpered. 

"Dad, please. Please." 

Whatever composure he'd been faking was gone in an instant, replaced by a terrified child who just wanted to be held. 

Sean clung onto the front of Bryan's shirt, and Bryan felt his heart shattering piece by piece. 

"It's going to be okay, Sean," he whispered, trying with everything to keep the tears out of his voice. Sean needed him to be strong. 

"I promise."

The boy was trembling, worse than Bryan had ever seen. He tried to shift him off, direct him towards the car, but Sean was having none of it. 

"Dad, no! Don't leave me, please. Please, I need you!"

Sean's voice grew more and more shrill, peaking at a scream that was like a knife plunging directly into Bryan's stomach. 

"Sean, it's going to be fine. You need to trust me, okay?"

The boy shook his head, tightening his grip on Bryan's clothes. 

"No. No, I _can't._ " 

Bryan didn't bother to wipe away his own tears. His baby, his little boy… Sean didn't deserve this. No one could ever deserve this. 

"Please, please. I'll be good, just don't make me go!" He was begging now, so afraid to lose… everything. Bryan ran a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower. He must be cold, out here in the middle of December, not even a coat. 

"I'll be good…" the boy repeated, whimpering. 

God, he thought this was some kind of horribly twisted punishment. Bryan held him tighter, trying to show that it absolutely wasn't. 

"Sean, I promise, you'll be home soon. This is temporary. Do you hear me, baby? Temporary." Sean didn't respond, but his grip loosened just a tiny bit. 

Bryan rubbed the boy's skinny little shoulders in circular motions, hoping to calm him enough for Jonathan…

For Jonathan to take his son away. 

"Temporary. You're coming home as soon as this mess is cleared up."

Was Bryan trying to assure Sean or himself? 

Sean choked on a sob, making no move to let go any time soon. 

Physically, Bryan knew he could get the boy off of him fairly easily. Sean was strong, sure, but he wasn't much of a match for a grown man. 

He'd rather die than pry off those desperate fingers, shaking and clinging to something, anything that the boy's terrified mind could comprehend. 

"You're my good boy, okay? We're going to have you home again." 

“Want me to bring a crowbar?” Bryan heard the officer laugh, as if somehow this situation was _funny._

"With as little respect as is humanly possible, officer, what the hell?" Jonathan snapped, and Sean cringed farther into Bryan's arms.

Behind them, Jonathan went off on the policeman, but Bryan tuned it out. 

"I promise you, Sean, you will come home." Bryan ran a hand through his hair, which was starting to become stiff in the cold. He needed to get Sean into the car, as much as he absolutely did not want to do that. 

The boy hesitated, but then nodded slowly. He started to loosen the death grip on Bryan's sweatshirt, but still kept one fist tight around the sleeve. 

"Here," Bryan said gently, slipping the jacket over his head. 

"You hold on to this. Give it back when you come home."

Sean nodded, wiping his tears on the jacket and clutching it close. 

Bryan nudged him towards the open door, which Sean shied away from like it was the mouth of a dragon. But he got in, slowly, carefully, timidly. Bryan reached across him to buckle the seatbelt, and Sean leaned into his chest one last time. 

"Dad?"

"Yes, baby?"

"I-I love you." 

Bryan kissed the boy's forehead and brushed his hair aside. 

"I love you too, kiddo. It's going to be okay. I promise." 

Sean shuddered out a wet, teary gasp, burying his face in the sweatshirt as soon as Bryan shut the door. 

"I'll do everything I can," Jonathan promised. "He's coming home if I have anything to say about it."

It killed Bryan to watch the car drive away, but he owed Sean that much. He stood in the frozen parking lot until the headlights turned away, down a side street and out of sight. 

Gone.


	22. Sad, obviously.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so stressed out about finals! So I just make Spot sad, and then I'm less stressed.  
> Chemistry is hard and I'm dumb.

Spot stared out the window of Jonathan's car. He was used to this view, though it wasn't usually nighttime when he saw it. People usually moved him around in the morning. 

He shivered despite the heater. 

"Sean, I'm so sorry." Spot jumped at Jonathan's sudden voice in the otherwise quiet car. 

How was he supposed to respond to that? 

"If you meant that," Spot clutched at the sweatshirt. "You'd take me back."

Jonathan sighed, keeping his eyes on the road. 

"You know I can't do that, Sean. As much as I want to, we have to do this the right way." 

What the fuck was _right_ about this? Spot twisted in his seat, even though he knew perfectly well that he wouldn't be able to see Bryan anymore. 

"Where are we going?"

Not that it mattered. They were going away. Away was bad, and it made no difference where to. 

"You know these folks," Jonathan said, clearly trying to sound reassuring. Spot was not reassured. 

"Your friend the nurse, Sebastian. He and his roommate got approved to take you in. I'm not saying I pulled some strings to get it done faster," Jonathan gave Spot a weak smile. "But I might have done that."

Spot nodded slowly. Being with Skittery was a confusing idea. On the one hand, it had been the plan for _years_. Skittery would age out, he'd get his own place, get settled, and then come back for Spot. That had been the plan. That hadn't happened. 

Spot had a family now, and the other hand in this situation was there to remind him that this whole terrible situation was Absolutely Not Right. Spot was supposed to be home with Bryan and David and Sarah and Les. He wasn't _supposed to_ go live with Skittery. 

Then there was a third hand, which was afraid of what might have changed. Skittery wasn't the same, Spot wasn't the same. What if he didn't want him anymore?

Who was this roommate? Spot hadn't heard of any roommate until now. 

There were so many "other hands" to consider, Spot's brain was an octopus of confusion by the time they pulled up to the apartment. 

Skittery lived in a nice place, nothing fancy, but it looked safe and clean. 

That didn't mean Spot was going to like it. He tugged Bryan's sweatshirt over his head, breathing in the faint scent of something normal, something _right_. It was the only thing that was actually Bryan's that the man had, since he'd left it in the car before the whole 'Spot Fucks Up And Burns The House Down' thing happened. 

Spot wondered when everyone would be able to go back to the house. They weren't supposed to before, but that was because the police and insurance and everybody had to figure out what caused the fire. Now that Spot had admitted his part, maybe they could go home. 

_They_ meaning everyone except Spot, which hurt more than he knew how to admit. 

Spot followed behind Jonathan, kicking at freshly scattered ice-salt. 

Skittery was waiting at the door for them like a trained monkey. _He should get a little bell_ , Spot thought absently, trying not to think about anything that mattered. _A bell and a suit_. 

"Hey, Spotty." Spot decided to be nice and not glare, but he still wasn't going to smile. 

Skittery smiled awkwardly, like a monkey offered something that wasn't a banana. "Come on in. Dutchy's waiting to meet you."

Spot didn't care who or what the fuck Dutchy was; he didn't want to meet them. 

But he had to follow, didn't he? That or stay outside in the freezing cold until Jonathan got fed up with waiting and dragged him in. Spot hated to admit it, but Jonathan was still bigger than him, and right now, he had no energy to fight. 

The inside of the apartment was a typical apartment, rows of doors and a stairway that Spot was led up by Skittery. Jonathan followed behind, which was not lost on Spot. They thought he'd run. Would he? Even Spot didn't know the answer to that one. 

Dutchy, as it turned out, was the roommate Spot had been informed of in the car. He fidgeted a lot, but didn't seem dangerous. 

Spot focused on the carpet, which was squishy enough to be felt through his sneakers. They had carpet at home. 

"Here, let me take your jacket." 

Spot wrapped his arms tight around his stomach. _No way_. 

The sweatshirt stayed on, and he didn't care what anybody said about it. 

Dutchy put his hands up in apology. "Alright, sorry."

Skittery knew to keep his fucking hands to his fucking self, but he'd left Spot alone with his weird little roommate in favor of following Jonathan outside. 

Probably giving the whole "Care and Feeding Of Your New Delinquent" speech. 

Don't expose it to sunlight, water, or feed after midnight. 

Dutchy looked uncomfortable, but Spot was pretty sure he could make him more uncomfortable. To test this fun theory, Spot stared directly into the man's eyes, not the blank stare that his eyes felt like doing; that would just get him pity. Spot didn't want pity. He could force some intensity, if only for a distraction. 

Skittery finally came back, after long enough that he'd probably given Jonathan a fucking blowjob or something equally disgusting. Skittery was a suck up, and Spot glared at him too. 

Skittery smiled awkwardly back at Spot. "Getting acquainted?" 

Spot wasn't going to dignify that with a response. 

Skittery and Dutchy both shifted uncomfortably. Why the fuck did they think he'd be all happy and cheerful? If they wanted someone who'd be happy to see them, they should have gone with a baby or a dog. 

"Alright," Skittery finally managed. "It's late, and we can talk in the morning." He waved for Spot to follow him down the little hallway. 

"We've got you all set up in here. Jonathan said he'd bring some more clothes by tomorrow, once they can get your things from the house." 

Spot stepped into the room. It was a bit smaller than his room at home, but not closet-small. 

He sat on the bed and stared at Dutchy, who now looked like he was about to piss himself with nerves. 

"I, uh… goodnight." Dutchy fled the room, nearly tripping over himself in the process. 

Skittery, unfortunately, did not follow. He sat down next to Spot, slowly and so carefully that he might as well be hovering above the bed rather than sitting on it. 

"Dutchy's not great at people," he explained. "He's a vet tech. We met in college." Before Spot could ask, he clarified, " _Not_ fucking. Just roommates."

Spot tucked his arms deeper into the hoodie pocket and decided that his new favorite color was this very specific shade of warm brown. 

Bryan had brownish eyes. Brown and blue, in a weird mix. Sarah and Les just had brown eyes, and David had blue, and Spot really wanted to go home. But that wasn't an eye color. 

Skittery was still talking. 

"I'll pick up some Jell-O tomorrow, and you should have some more clothes by then too, or maybe the day after at the latest." 

He shifted. 

"Spot, I'm really sorry it had to be this way." 

Spot was going to pretend he didn't know what Skittery was talking about. This was normal. Normal and fine and good. 

"Alright," Skittery sighed when Spot continued to ignore him.

"You get some sleep, alright?"

He clicked off the light on the way out, which was nice. Probably. Was it nice? Spot didn't know what was nice. It was probably nice of Jonathan to bring him here instead of another group home or something, and it was nice of Skittery and Dutchy to let him stay.

He tugged his legs and arms into the hoodie and curled up like a turtle in a shell. 

If everyone was being so nice all of a sudden, why did Spot just want to cry?


	23. Writers block again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing is HARD, this chapter SUCKS, I voted today, so yay for DEMOCRACY I guess.  
> SPOT IS NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME.  
> I PROJECT ONTO DUTCHY.  
> SARAH IS ANGRY.  
> DAVID IS CONFUSED.  
> DENTON NEEDS A HUG.

Spot didn't sleep, and he hadn't expected to. How was he supposed to sleep here, where even the _heater_ sounded funny? Not even a loud kind of funny. Just wrong. 

He curled deeper into Bryan's hoodie. The apartment had a fully functional heater, so why was he so cold? 

Finally, or maybe unfortunately, sunlight peeked through the curtains. Morning did not make things look better. 

Morning made things look just as bad, but now the sun was in his eyes.

Spot squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face under the pillow that wasn't his. 

He was supposed to be used to this. To moving around, having nothing that was actually his, and everything suddenly flipping on its fucking head. Spot didn't get a say in it; he never got a say. 

He'd probably just make the wrong decision anyway. Spot always made the wrong decision. 

He'd decided to trust Bryan, and look how that worked out. If Spot had just kept his stupid mouth shut, he'd be at home now. Well, in the hotel, but with family, and that meant home. 

And the hotel was only relevant because Spot made yet _another_ stupid decision, and caught the fucking house on fire.

Spot Conlon did not cry. Not now, not ever. 

He didn't cry, didn't get attached, and didn't care. Didn't care about anyone. 

He didn't care about Skittery, who was up and moving, and he didn't care about his stupid roommate, who had already left for work. 

He didn't care that even Bryan had given him away. 

How long until Skittery did the same?

* * *

David watched absently as Bryan carefully hung the old red backpack on the coat rack, ready for when Spot's current, _temporary_ guardians came to pick his things up. 

Thank goodness the bedrooms were mostly unharmed, aside from a lingering smokey scent on everything. 

Spot would have his blanket, his medications, his own clothes. Everything except his family. 

It wasn't _fair_. Everyone else was together, why did Spot have to leave? 

They'd even found Les' cat at the house today. Lenny had run up to them, absolutely ecstatic to see that he hadn't been abandoned. 

Abandoned like poor Spot probably felt right now. 

David didn't want to imagine his brother, scared and alone, probably with more strangers, and not even his own blanket for comfort all night long. 

Sarah sat down next to him on the bed, pointedly ignoring Bryan and anything the man did. She was _furious_ , and David didn't know what to do. 

Was it really Bryan's fault? He didn't think so, but why hadn't he done more? Surely there was something else…

"Want to go for a walk?"

David twitched at the sudden and unexpected sound of his sister's voice. 

"Sure." He swung his legs off the bed and followed her out the door, getting quick acknowledgement from Bryan that it was okay first. Sarah wasn't going to ask for permission, that was for sure. 

Outside the hotel was far less stressful. He could pretend they were just going for an ordinary walk, and could go back home afterwards. Pretend that home was still just fine, absolutely normal with no repairs needed. 

David took comfort in the fact that they should be back in the house by the end of the week; as it turned out, most of the damage wasn't serious, and the only _really_ bad parts were in the garage, where the fire started. 

Was David supposed to be mad at Spot? He didn't feel mad, or at least, not at Spot. He felt mad at the stupid court system, and mad at the police, and mad at Spot's parents, and mad at pretty much everyone who wasn't his immediate family. 

More than anything, David wanted his brother home, but that was the one thing he couldn't do anything about. 

* * *

Dutchy met Spot's dad in the hotel lobby, and was surprised by how surprised he was at the man's appearance. The guy was younger than expected, maybe late thirties, and looked very very tired. The tired part wasn't a surprise, but still.

Dutchy didn't know how to talk to people. He hadn't ever been very good at it, and thus his only _real_ friend was Sebastian, or Skittery, as they were apparently going to call him now. 

What was he supposed to be doing? 

Right, Spot's stuff. Kid needed his clothes and everything. 

Introductions were awkward, obviously. Dutchy had the guy's _child_ living in his apartment. It was bound to be weird. 

Also Dutchy was Dutchy, so awkwardness was just a part of the deal. 

"How is he?" Bryan asked, barely hiding a tremble in his voice. 

_Abort mission! Abort mission!_ Shrieked the little alien captain manning Dutchy's consciousness. 

"Its going better than Sebastian expected," Dutchy said, shoving the stupid alien down with cheerfulness and positivity as he shouldered the backpack. He was supposed to be friendly, right? That's what normal people did. But not in this situation! Wikihow had nothing about _Talking To Your Foster Child's Dad Who Obviously Loves Him and Would Provide A Much Better Home Than You Could Ever Dream Of_. 

And aliens were no help whatsoever. 

"Like, he hasn't thrown a fit or anything." Dutchy tried to backtrack and make sure it didn't sound like Spot was _happy_ to be away from his family, because the kid absolutely was not. He was still in bed, as far as Dutchy knew, and it was nearly four PM. Not a happy camper.

_Fucking Christ, don't think like that, stupid. Happy camper._

"I mean, he misses you all, of course, but things are going well. Better than Sebby expected, like I said." Dutchy realized that he was babbling, but had no idea how to stop. 

"I have mice, and he was watching them when I left, so I guess he's not scared. Of mice, at least." 

_Shut up, Dutchy. Shut up shut up shut up!_

"He's scared of dogs," Bryan said, sounding a bit like he was being strangled. 

"Dogs." Dutchy desperately tried to file that information into his brain. Something useful! Thank _God_. 

"Okay, our apartment doesn't have many dogs, so I guess he'll be happy. Well, not happy," Dutchy fumbled again, reaching for his lanyard. He needed to _go_ , before he said something really dumb. 

"He's pretty miserable- _fuck I'm not supposed to tell you that_." 

Skittery had coached him on this! Spot was doing fine, but missed his family. He wanted to go home, but he could function. 

_Lie better, Dutchy._

"I should let you get back to…"

Dutchy had no reason to "let Bryan go", he just wanted to escape. 

The man held out a thick yellow blanket, freshly washed.

"He'll want this." The man seemed to hesitate, clearly not wanting to let the blanket go. 

Dutchy folded the fuzzy thing up under one arm, the backpack slung over the other. 

"Alright, I guess I'll get this home to him. Thanks, Mr. Denton."

"Bryan."

"Right, Bryan." Dutchy was supposed to treat adults like peers now. He should quit forgetting that, it made him look dumb. 

Practically sprinting back to his car _also_ probably made him look dumb, but Dutchy couldn't bring himself to care. 

Spot needed his things, that was all. Had nothing to do with avoiding a social situation. Dutchy would never. 


	24. Guardians of the Galaxy : Daddy Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert for Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2
> 
> Readers : give us sprace fluff?  
> Me : I give u sprace. What is fluff? I think that means cry.

Spot wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, snuggling into a little nest on the sofa. He wasn't home, and it was impossible to forget that, but at least the blanket smelled like home. Like the right brand of laundry soap and not at all like smoke, which meant Bryan had washed it before giving it to Dutchy. That was nice of him. It meant he was thinking of Spot, and if Bryan was thinking of Spot, then maybe he'd keep trying to get him back. 

"Hey, Spotty. Have you eaten anything yet?" 

Skittery kept bugging Spot like that, and refused to get it through his thick head that Spot didn't feel like eating. 

He shook his equally thick head, and Skittery sighed, getting to his feet. 

"You have to eat something. What do you want?" Spot shook his head again. He wasn't hungry. 

" _S_ _pot."_

Fuck, Skittery sounded annoyed. 

Spot took a deep breath, doing everything he could to stay silent about it. 

Skittery did not, had not, would not ever hit him. Never. 

But even Skittery had a limit. This probably wasn't it, but Spot had to keep that in mind for future reference. This whole situation was garbage, but Spot was all too aware how much worse it could be.

"I've got Jell-O," Skittery coaxed. If Spot were hungry, that might work, but he wasn't, so it wouldn't. 

"Hey." Skittery sat back down.

"I got an idea." He tossed Spot his phone. "Call loverboy. Bring him over, you guys can put on a movie."

Spot glared at Skittery, but he sent Race, aka Loverboy, the text. He wanted to see him, but he did _not_ like the whole "cool parent" thing Skittery seemed to be going for. Skittery wasn't his dad, and he never would be. 

Bryan was his dad. Bryan loved him. Bryan wanted him back. 

He had to. 

Spot didn't know what he would do if Bryan had changed his mind.

* * *

Racetrack was usually pretty good at adapting to new situations, but this was definitely something else. 

His boyfriend was snuggled up against Racetrack's side, wrapped up in his blanket like a cocoon while they watched a movie. 

Spot liked the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie, so hopefully the sequel would distract him from this absolutely horrible situation that Racetrack couldn't figure out what to think about. 

Sure, this guy Skittery was nice. He was a nurse, Spot knew him and all. But he wasn't… _right._ Nothing about this was. It was all just _fine_. Nobody was in danger, everything was technically okay. 

But Spot wasn't talking, not to Racetrack, not to anyone. He'd grunt and mumble, humming in contentment when Race ran a hand through his hair, but no words. Race wondered if Spot _couldn't_ talk, or was just choosing not to. 

Race wasn't supposed to talk about David, Sarah, Les, or Denton. His mom had coached him on all the things not to say, so basically Racetrack was supposed to pretend like this was all normal, except he had a list of taboo conversations where normally he could and would just say whatever popped into his head. 

As if Spot refusing to talk, eat, or put on different clothes was in any way normal. 

He looked absolutely adorable in the oversized sweatshirt, and Racetrack absolutely hated that he noticed it. He should _not_ be thinking like _that_ at a time like _this._

What was he supposed to say? "Cute little coping mechanism you got there, babe." 

That wasn't fucked up at all. 

Spot reached for Racetrack's hand, tangling their fingers together in a wonderful little knot. 

"You like this movie?" Racetrack was fully capable of carrying this entire conversation if he had to. Besides, he did like the sound of his own voice. Spot nodded, squirming closer to Race's side. 

"Rocket is you." He poked Spot on the nose. Always the love of his life, Spot bit his finger. 

Race squealed as annoyingly as he could, tugging his hand free and wiping the residual saliva across Spot's forehead.

“Horrible, rabid, _mean_ trash panda,” he declared, bringing out a wonderful little smile from Spot, who previously had had pretty much the blankest expression possible plastered across his face. 

They turned back to the movie, settling into a comfortable warmth that wasn't quite perfect, but given the circumstances, it was pretty good. Okay at the very least. 

Had Racetrack seen this particular movie before, he wouldn't have picked it for this particular situation, but he hadn't seen it, so he did, and that was very very bad. 

Turned out, _Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2_ could alternately be titled _Guardians of the Galaxy: Daddy Issues_. 

"He may have been your father," Yondu rasped onscreen. "But he wasn't your daddy." And then he fucking _died_ another two lines later. 

This was officially the worst movie choice ever. 

"Shoot," Race whispered, sneaking a look at Spot. Yeah, the face Spot was making was not the face of someone who was doing okay anymore. 

Spot started to shake all over, just little tremors at first, then more and more intense as he began to cry harder and harder. Race pulled him tight into a hug, feeling extremely inadequate. 

"Shit, Spot, I'm so _so_ sorry. I didn't know it ended like that." Spot buried his face in Racetrack's neck, dampening his shirt with tears. 

Fuck, he wasn't good at this at _all_ . Race rubbed Spot's back, trying to do something, anything to make it… not _better_ , because that wasn't possible, but maybe a little less awful. 

"What's going on?"

Spot tensed even more at Skittery's voice. 

"I didn't know Yondu died." Racetrack focused on Spot, on doing anything and everything he could to help. 

"Shit…" 

Shit was right. 

Skittery sat down next to them, but not too close. Spot still clung to Racetrack's torso like a koala, which normally would be great, except he was also sobbing, and Race did not consider that to be great in any way. 

They just sat there, miserable together, until Spot ran out of tears. Race petted his hair gently, and Spot let out a shuddering breath, twisting to almost look at Race. 

"I love you," Race whispered, because there wasn't anything else to say. 

Spot moved to kiss him, just once, so brief and light that Race might have just imagined it. 

It wasn't good, it wasn't okay, it wasn't anything. But Race would hold on until it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also fuck Crisp Ratt. Fuckin loser. Hate his guts. Pirate all the movies he's in.


	25. Dutchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am seriously neglecting all my other fics, and I'm so sorry for anyone who is reading them.  
> This one is just... special, and owns my every waking thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW  
> Okay, so this one is a bit complicated.  
> Simple warning : vomiting, disordered eating.  
> Not a specific eating disorder, but the kind of thing where if eating disorders are a trigger for you, this might also be a problem.  
> Basically, Spotty is very sad and neglecting his health because of it.  
> Hopefully that makes sense.

Out of all the alarms in the world, the sound of vomiting was probably the best and quickest way to get Dutchy up and moving. He had plenty of experience with kennel cough, allergies, hairballs, and just plain stress in animals, so a human kid shouldn’t be much different, right?

Wrong. So, so, _so_ wrong.

Just because Dutchy had worked a few night shifts way back after getting his certification didn't mean he was at all prepared to work one now. 

For one thing, those night shifts were at an _animal hospital_ , which was very very different from the night shift of… parenting. Fuck, Dutchy was supposed to be parenting. He didn't know how to do that!

For another thing, at the emergency vet clinic, he was never the only one there. There was always a full-fledged veterinarian at least, so Dutchy wasn't in charge. 

Well, he was in charge now. In charge of a human child who'd just that afternoon had an absolute emotional breakdown. The whole not talking thing should probably be concerning, but Dutchy figured it was the least of their problems. 

A bigger problem was the absolute _fit_ Spot had when Skittery tried to get his meds into the kid's throat. Dutchy couldn't recall such a significant tantrum from someone over the age of five, and frankly, he worried they might have gotten in a little over their heads. 

He could get a dog to take pills, no problem, but the dog would usually be willing to eat a hotdog or some peanut butter. Spot didn’t want food, medicine, or to change out of that specific sweatshirt. Not showering for a teenage boy was… a problem for several reasons. 

And now the kid had woken both Dutchy and himself up by puking in his sleep. Probably one of the scariest ways to wake up, if Dutchy knew anything about it, which he kind of did. 

Poor kid had choked, and woke up when he couldn’t breathe properly. 

That was about when Dutchy got up and bolted in, 

"Hey, you alright?" 

It was a very stupid question, because _obviously_ he wasn't fucking alright, but Dutchy didn't even get a stupid answer in response. 

Spot just looked confused, apparently still mostly asleep while covered in his own vomit. 

He stared at Dutchy, who suddenly realized it was his job to be in control here. 

"Let's get that gross stuff off you, alright?" 

He gestured for Spot to take his shirt off. Spot looked down at himself, surprised to see he was a mess. Still, the boy made no move to do anything about it. 

Dutchy sat back to think. Spot stared at him. It was weird. 

What would he do if this was at the clinic? Dogs weren't prone to cleaning themselves up, at least not in the way people liked for them to. Usually they'd just eat it. 

He'd clean a dog up himself, and a kid was basically the same, right? Better explain what was going on first, though. 

"I'm going to take your shirt, okay?" 

Spot blinked at him, suddenly seeming to realize what Dutchy wanted.

He shook his head. 

Of course he wouldn’t take the hoodie off, even now. 

“Spot, it’s all gross now. I promise, I’ll give it back.” Spot hesitated, then nodded, lifting his arms while Dutchy tugged the hoodie carefully over his head. 

Score one for Dutchy's parenting, no freaking out yet. 

Spot was waking up by now, and seemed a bit more aware of what was going on. 

That should have made everything easier, right?

Dutchy gestured at the boy to take his sweatpants off, then suddenly realized he should probably leave the room, due to Spot being a human child and not actually a dog. Dutchy needed to talk to more people. 

He got up to leave and give the boy privacy, and Spot immediately started to freak, shaking his head and curling back into the corner. 

"No, no, please," he whispered, voice hoarse and painfully controlled. 

"Don't make me. I don't want to. Please." 

"Hey, hey," Dutchy stepped back towards the door. This was more than just embarrassment, and he was going to have some questions for Skittery later, that was for sure. 

"Sorry, I didn't think. I'll wait outside, you can give the dirty ones to me once you change." 

Dutchy ducked outside as soon as he got a nod of acknowledgement. 

He'd fucked that up for sure. 

Who had hurt that kid like that? Why did he panic, immediately so defensive? 

Dutchy tapped his fingers along one knee. 

Somebody had hurt that kid, more than just bruises kind of hurt. 

He didn't want to think about how. 

The door opened and Dutchy jumped like a cat in one of those videos with the cucumbers. 

“Better?” He should try and be casual, right? That sounded right. Spot didn’t seem to want to have a sappy heart-to-heart, at least not right now. Not when he still had a little bit of vomit in his hair. 

“You’d better jump in the shower,” Dutchy suggested, hoping he sounded responsible and firm and all the things an adult was supposed to sound like. 

Spot hesitated at the bathroom door, turning to face Dutchy. He mumbled something, scrunching up his shoulders. 

“What?”  
“Don’t- don’t want to leave.”

“What?” Dutchy felt very much like a broken record, or maybe a parrot that only knew the word “what?”

Spot let all the words out in a rush. “Dad left an’ I got in the shower and then they took me away.” Spot frowned at the hallway carpet. “Don’t want to leave again.” 

“Oh.” Dutchy swallowed hard. Now was not the time to be sad, not for him. 

“I’ll stay right outside the door,” he said, gesturing awkwardly as if Spot didn’t know what a door was. “You don’t have to leave, I promise.”

Spot nodded, still hesitant, but he shut the door. Dutchy could hear the shower turn on, and some moving and shifting. 

He allowed himself to zone out, leaning on the wall. He could probably leave, the kid wouldn’t know, but that would make Dutchy a liar, which was one thing he did not want to be. 

“Dutchy?” the voice was small, still painfully controlled, and made Dutchy suddenly very happy he’d kept his word and stood outside the door. 

“Yes, Spot?” 

No sound besides the water running for a minute there. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” 

As if _Spot_ should be the one apologizing. 

God, Dutchy just wanted to hug him, to make everything better and just let the poor kid feel happy and safe for just a little while. 

He was used to being able to fix things, though usually in dogs and cats, not boys. Not this time. This time, it was bigger than Dutchy, more complicated and more people-y. Stuff he didn’t get, and experiences he’d never had. 

He couldn’t make it all go away, so Dutchy put his hand on the door and stood, doing the one little thing he _could_ do. 


	26. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot is sad, Race gets some brotherly advice.

More than anything, Spot wanted to go home. 

He shifted the blanket over his head and wrapped one arm around his middle. He should be hungry by now, probably, but as empty as Spot's belly was, his chest felt emptier. 

Something, somewhere inside him was protesting at the lack of food, but another, bigger part made it very clear that he'd absolutely choke on anything he might try to force down.

His heart wanted company in its emptiness. 

This apartment was too quiet. At home, even if he was alone, there would always be the little sounds of cats doing cat things, or the wind chimes outside, or the nice humming sound the heater made.

Not here. Here, Spot heard the sound of blood in his ears pulsing like waves that wanted to drown him. 

It was too quiet. 

Bryan would be in his office, probably typing something. Spot closed his eyes and pretended he could hear the computer keys. 

One of Dutchy's mice sneezed, then went back to sleep. It was the most noise Spot had heard all day. 

Les would slam the door when he came home, and David would complain about the noise, because he was trying to study, and Sarah would laugh and tease him, ask why he was studying during the winter break. 

Skittery was the only one in the apartment, and he was asleep. He worked the night shift at the hospital now, and Dutchy worked days, so Spot was basically on his own. 

_Don't be afraid to wake me up if you need anything._

Sure, Spot would totally do that. He wrapped his blanket tighter, curling deeper into the couch. 

He'd considered turning on the TV just for background noise, but that might lead to a repeat of the previous evening with Racetrack, and Spot didn't want to do that again.

_Fucking wuss. Can't even handle a movie anymore._

Spot clenched his teeth at a sudden twinge in his stomach. It hurt, everything hurt so bad…

He screwed his eyes shut, forcing the tears to stay inside where they belonged. He could handle this by himself. He had to. 

Even with Skittery the next room over, Spot was entirely too aware that he was completely alone.

* * *

Locking himself in the basement had become something of a habit for Racetrack. Normally he loved the holiday season, with all the chaos and happiness that came with it, but this year was different from normal.

His entire extended family did not fit in the house by any means, but they didn't usually stay through until Christmas properly came. It was just Nonna, his parents, and all "The Kids", most of whom were technically adults and not kids by now. 

Racetrack didn't want to talk to any of them, even if his mother was upset that he ignored his sister as soon as he walked in the door. Maria would have to get over it. Race was dumb and stupid and he caused problems and fucked things up because of being dumb and stupid. No brains inside his head. None at all. 

He peeled off his binder and tugged on a baggy sweatshirt. Stupid lungs and ribs needing freedom after 8 hours.

He should get one of Spot's sweatshirts, and give Spot one of his. That would be nice, right? Kind of an apology for fucking up so badly with the movie. Would Spot even wear it? He didn't want to take off Denton's hoodie as far as Racetrack knew. 

Who was he kidding? Race thought bitterly. He couldn't make anything better. 

Racetrack loved Spot, more than he had ever thought possible. Maybe that meant he should stop being selfish and let Spot find somebody better. Somebody who could be supportive and strong and who wouldn't put on a movie where the _fucking adopted dad dies at the end when Spot was already in fucking pieces_.

Fucking stupid, that was Racetrack Higgins. He curled into a ball, trying very hard not to cry. Spot hadn't even been mad at him. He should have been mad, with how much Race had fucked that up. 

He just cried and Racetrack couldn't do anything to help, and it was his fault. 

"Tony?" Racetrack looked up, wiping at his eyes. He wasn't crying. 

Dante stood in the doorway. Why did his mom always send Dante to talk? She couldn't be bothered to talk to him herself? Not that Racetrack particularly wanted to talk to her, but still. It would be nice if she tried. 

"What's up?" Racetrack's favorite brother sat on the end of his bed, legs crossed up in a pretzel. 

"Nothing." Racetrack crossed his arms tight across his chest.

"Liar." 

Racetrack snorted. "Yeah."

"Want to talk about it?" 

He sat up. "I'm stupid and useless and Spot deserves better." 

Dante raised an eyebrow. Well, he tried to. Racetrack's brother couldn't raise his eyebrows individually, but that didn't stop him from trying. 

"It went that bad?"

Race nodded. "We watched Guardians of the Galaxy, the second one."

Dante winced. "Oops."

"Yeah, Oops," Racetrack snorted. 

"It already sucks and I made it worse." He looked up at Dante, who immediately wrapped him in a hug. 

"It's going to be okay. You know it will." Racetrack sighed. 

"Probably. But…" he hesitated. "What if this is just how it'll be? Forever?"

Dante cocked his head. "Meaning?"

"What if it's always going to be like this? Things are good for awhile and then they're just _not_ , and I can't do anything about it."

Dante nodded. "Probably. That's basically how things go."

Racetrack squeaked in surprise. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

Dante laughed, and Racetrack was suddenly struck by how fucking _manly_ his brother sounded. 

"You don't have to feel better. But it's not your fault. Every relationship has its ups and downs, that's just how it works. The question is," he released Racetrack from the hug. "Are you going to stick it out?"

"Absolutely." 

The word was out of his mouth before Racetrack even thought of it in his head. 

He _was_ going to stick it out for Spot. Whatever happened, he'd be there. Spot wasn't going to go through it alone.


	27. I'm a terrible person, I know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TWs in end notes this time.  
> Feel free to yell at me on tumblr because yes, I am very mean to my lovely boys.  
> @maggs-is-a-muppet

Skittery was the worst parent ever. "His" kid hadn't eaten in three days, and he'd thrown up everything before that. 

Skittery was a nurse, dammit, so why couldn't he get Spot to take his damn meds?

Any progress that had been made with Spot was because of Dutchy, and Skittery felt that knowledge like a stab to his chest. Spot was _his_ brother. He should be doing something to help, but Spot wouldn't even talk to him. 

He fiddled with his bag, or Man-Purse, as Dutchy called it. Skittery could have a purse if he wanted one, thank-you- _very-_ much, Dutchy. 

He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to upset Spot, probably scare him and make everything worse. 

But Spot could die if he didn't. He had to start eating, start taking his meds, or the kid would need more surgery. 

More surgery and more days in the hospital, this time without his dad there for comfort.

This backup plan was not one Skittery wanted to consider, but he might be forced to.

Dutchy looked at him across the table. 

"You're sure this is a good idea?"

Skittery swallowed hard. No, he was _not_ sure. But he nodded anyway. 

"He's not going to take them himself. Maybe you should've brought your dog gloves home," Skittery tried to joke. "He's probably gonna bite."

They'd set everything up on the little kitchen table that doubled as an Everything Else Table, from eating to studying to syringes for forcibly medicating what was basically his little brother. 

If Spot wouldn't take his pills, they'd have to inject the different medications. Thank God they only needed two. That would be hard enough. 

"You want me to hold him, or do the shot?"

Dutchy pulled his sweatshirt off and draped it over the back of the chair. 

Skittery thought for a moment. "I'd better hold him. If you do, he'll freak even more." Spot didn't _really_ know Dutchy; he wouldn't like being pinned by a stranger, which was what most likely would end up happening. At least, that's what Skittery tried to convince himself. He wanted to believe Spot still trusted him.

"Ready?" 

Skittery nodded, but Dutchy still made no move away from the table. 

"You're sure? I can probably handle him myself, if you think that's better. After all," he gave a cocky little grin, very obviously hiding nerves as he fiddled with his glasses. 

"You're talking to the one tech who can handle a skittish German shepherd alone." 

_A skittish dog,_ Skittery thought to himself, _is nothing compared to Spot when he's scared or angry._

And the boy certainly would be both after this. 

He shook his head. 

"You're going to need help. He'll definitely be scared, and pissed off, and neither of you'd be safe. I'm not kidding when I say he bites." 

He pushed their supplies towards Dutchy. "I'll go in and grab him, you come in once I'm ready." He tried not to choke on the words. "Surprise him, I guess." 

Skittery was a monster. He took a deep breath, tried to turn off his stupid soft emotions, and headed for the living room. 

Spot had put one of Dutchy's National Geographic documentaries on. The bird one, which Skittery wouldn't have expected him to be interested in. He'd already watched it three times in one day, starting the disc over as soon as it ended. 

Skittery sat on the couch next to Spot, who stared blankly at tropical birds screeching and strutting around the trees. 

"Hey, Spotty. I'm gonna ask you one last time, okay?" 

He didn't even get a reaction. 

"You need to take your meds, buddy." Skittery sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

"You're making yourself _sick_ , Spot. Do you understand that?" 

Spot closed his eyes and said nothing.

"Okay," Skittery said softly, already regretting his next move. 

"Then come here."

He grabbed Spot's arms before the kid even knew what was going on, tugging him into his lap and wrapping his arms around the boy's belly. 

"What the fuck, Skittery?" Spot snapped, immediately angry. He bucked his hips as much as possible, but Skittery had gotten a pretty good grip, and he held tight, pinning Spot's arms to his sides. 

"I'm sorry, Spotty. Just hold still. I promise, it's okay."

Spot writhed and twitched around, trying to escape as Dutchy came into the room. 

"What? Hey, let me _go!_ " He tried to scratch Skittery's arm, but he'd chewed his nails to nubs ages ago. 

"Dutchy knows what he's doing. I promise, it'll only hurt for a second." 

Dutchy, thank goodness, had the syringe ready to go. He rolled up Spot's sleeve, bringing forth a wave of curses and just general snarling. True to form, Spot snapped at Dutchy's hands with his teeth. 

Dutchy narrowly avoided the snapping and snarling, gently and quickly swabbing Spot's exposed shoulder with an alcohol wipe. 

Spot's eyes widened at what Skittery knew must by now be a familiar feeling, one that preceded pain every time. He felt the boy's heart start to race against his own chest and once again knew himself to be a monster for doing this at all. 

"It's okay, kid. I promi-dammit!" 

Dutchy doubled over at the foot suddenly jabbed directly into his ribcage. 

"Spot, I need you to calm down," Skittery tried to soothe the boy, but it was pretty clearly not working.

"No! Get away from me!" 

God, he sounded so scared. Skittery hated himself more than anything else in the world right now. But they had to do it. He couldn't let Spot hurt himself by neglecting his health anymore. 

"It's okay, I promise you, it's okay. He's going to take it slow and gentle, just breathe with m- _fucking hell, Sean!"_

Skittery swore and nearly lost his grip. 

Spot's knee dug into basically the most painful area possible, and it took everything in Skittery not to slap him away. 

He hated himself for even _thinking_ about hitting Spot, for any reason, he'd just been surprised by the sudden pain. 

The boy had frozen at the use of his real name; Skittery never called him Sean. 

It was only a moment of stillness, but that was enough for Dutchy to grab his arm and stick the needle in. 

Spot didn't even have time to react before the first shot was finished, but he sure as hell had time before the second one. 

Skittery squeezed him close, gripping the boy's shoulders tight and in what was intended as a comforting kind of way. 

Spot didn't seem particularly comforted, he just snarled and growled, crying now, and trying to thrash around but continually being stopped by Skittery's arms. 

"Same arm?" Dutchy asked for clarification, holding the second and thankfully last syringe. 

Skittery managed to grunt out a "yes" before wrenching his shoulder away from Spot's teeth. 

"Hurry up, Dutch." 

Skittery tightened his grip on the now-screaming boy, leaving a little space of exposed skin on his arm for Dutchy to give the injection. 

Spot screamed, a raw, harsh, awful sound if just pure rage. He bit down _hard_ on Skittery's hand, definitely drawing blood and forcing Skittery to loosen his hold just a bit. 

"Fuck!"

Spot took advantage and jerked away, free of Skittery's grip, and landed his skinny butt on the floor with a painful-sounding thud. 

Dutchy stepped back, hands up in front of him and holding the empty syringe. 

"All done. Good boy, Spo-shit. Sorry." 

The vet in Dutchy made its appearance, and had Spot been in any state to even _notice,_ he surely would have flipped out over it. 

The boy stared at them, fury and terror and just plain hurt spilling out in equal amounts with his tears. 

"Spot," Skittery kept his voice low and gentle, using a rag to put pressure on the blood leaking from his hand. 

"I'm sorry-"

"No!" 

Spot snapped, cupping one hand protectively over his arm. 

"Leave me alone!" 

He scrambled unsteadily to his feet and bolted off, back into his bedroom with a slam of the door. 

“You weren’t kidding about the biting thing,” Dutchy commented, moving to clean up the syringes and bottles of liquid. 

"We are never doing that ever again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence some blood, language (obviously, cause I'm me) and needles.


	28. Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot needs a hug. He rly does.
> 
> TW mentions of past sexual abuse.

_Knows what he's doing. I know what I'm doing._

Spot curled up into a tight little ball on the bed that wasn't his in the room that wasn't his in a house that wasn't home. Better than a mattress on the floor of his parent's filthy house, at least. No more lice, either. 

That didn't mean Spot was happy about it. He'd take all the lice in the world if it meant going home. Wouldn't even complain when Bryan wanted to pick them out. 

He didn't want to be here. 

_Won't hurt won't hurt won't hurt. Slow and gentle, gentle, so gentle, I'll be gentle, you'll like it, wait and see._

Spot had seen, all right. He'd seen that nobody would ever be okay. Nobody could be trusted. Hands always hurt, no matter what. 

He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, the only hands he could trust not to bring pain. That hurt too, with his arm sore from the needles. Why had he taken off the sweatshirt? Bryan gave it to him, and Bryan kept him safe, so he shouldn't have taken it off. If Spot had been wearing it, then Skittery and Dutchy wouldn't have been able to stick him.

_Get off!_

_Get your hands off me!_

Spot stared at his knees, trembling. He didn't even try to stop the shivering that had taken over. The familiar yellow blanket was still in the other room, he'd left in such a storm. Spot sat up, tugged on Bryan's sweatshirt, and curled back into a tight ball, head tucked under his pillow. 

Hands grabbing him, pinning him down against the cold counter and reaching around, gripping his…

No. Skittery had held him by the arms, not… that. Skittery didn't do that. That wasn't now. It wasn't happening now and it wasn't going to happen ever again. 

Spot rolled onto his stomach and squeezed his eyes shut, pounding at his ears with closed fists in a futile attempt to block out the voices, all the awful memories screaming inside his head. 

_Not Daniel. Not Daniel. It wasn't him, he's gone._

Skittery didn't know. Of course he didn't; nobody had told him. But still. He shouldn't have done that. 

Daniel was gone. He was gone and he was not coming back. Spot never had to see him again. Never, never, _never_. 

He was fine. Spot was fine and everything was… fine. 

Why did "fine" hurt so much?

Footsteps right outside made Spot's shoulders twitch without meaning to. He recognized that rhythm of steps. 

"Spot?" 

Skittery opened the door just a crack. 

"Can I come in?"

Spot gritted his teeth. He didn't want Skittery. He didn't want anybody. What he wanted was to be left alone, but apparently that wasn't a fucking _option_.

Actually, what Spot wanted, though he didn't know how to admit it, was Bryan. He wanted to go home. 

Skittery sat at the foot of the bed and gently placed one hand onto Spot's leg. He said nothing, just sat. 

Spot closed his eyes tight, keeping the tears inside. He'd cried enough for today. 

At least Skittery's hands were warm. As soon as he thought it, the hand went away, and Spot's blanket was placed carefully across his entire body. 

"I'm sorry, Spot. But I had to." 

Skittery sighed. 

"Spot, you're _sick_. I can't- I couldn't just let you make it worse." 

Spot didn't move. If he could have stopped breathing, he would have done that too, just to stay completely still. 

"Hey," Skittery whispered, sounding close enough to tears that Spot actually felt _bad_ for the asshole. 

"Spot, I do care about you. I - you mean so much to me, you know that?"

_Great way of fucking showing it._

Spot curled away, pressing his forehead against the wall. 

Skittery started to cry, Spot could hear it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Skittery cry. Skittery _didn't_ cry. 

Spot was the one who cried. 

Spot cried so easily now. He shouldn't, it was stupid and pointless and he hated it, but he cried. 

He bit back the sobs to keep silent, to keep Skittery from hearing. It hurt to cry like that, and he finally gave up and let himself cry out loud. Mostly just pathetic sniffling, which was worse than actual crying. 

But Skittery wasn't mocking him. Didn't call him names or tell him to grow up. He was crying too.

Spot had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling, but he knew he just felt bad. 

* * *

Skittery rubbed Spot's back, circling between his shoulders and running one thumb over his entirely too prominent spine. He'd not been eating enough, that much was clear. 

Skittery felt awful. He didn't know how to make anything better, and it really showed.

"What do you want, Spot?" He surprised himself by asking the question, and clearly surprised Spot too. 

Spot twisted to look up at Skittery. 

"I-I want to go home," he sniffled pathetically, still managing to fix Skittery with an intense glare. The boy shifted to sit up and face him. 

"I want to go home where nobody _hurts me_."

 _Ouch._ Well, Skittery probably deserved that one.

Acting on impulse, he hugged Spot close, hoping with everything he had that the boy wouldn't pull away. 

Finally, Spot's previously crumbling walls broke down completely.

"I want- I want my dad," he choked, shaking and crying into Skittery's shirt. 

"I know, buddy. I know." Skittery rubbed Spot's back, trying to calm the trembling, just a little. As expected, it didn't work. 

The boy just kept whimpering, little cries of " _dad,"_ and " _please"_ that broke Skittery's heart into more pieces than he would have thought possible. 

"Spotty, I wish I could take you home, I just can't. I'm so sorry."

Spot whimpered like a frightened puppy, high and long and painful to listen to. Skittery hugged him a bit tighter, but let go when Spot yelped in pain. He recoiled, shielding his arm where the shot had gone in. 

"Shit, sorry, I'm so sorry," Skittery fumbled. That was his fault entirely, and now here he was making it worse. 

Spot shook his head and leaned into Skittery's arms again. 

"S'fine." He sniffled and wiped at the streaky tears still trickling down his cheeks. "Don't let go." 

Skittery had never been more willing to oblige. 


	29. Sompfing somft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot deserved a break.

As much as Dutchy tried to convince himself that a few days would make this all easier, he knew full well he was lying to himself. 

He did not _do_ people. People were _hard_ and Dutchy didn't like them. Not that he _disliked_ Spot; Dutchy just didn't know what to do around the kid. 

Pet him? That would absolutely not go over well, Dutchy was certain of that at least. Dutchy didn't like people, thank you _very_ much, but he did like animals. 

Spot watched with a weird mixture of complete lack of emotion and childish curiosity as Dutchy fed his mice their evening meal. The hairless critters scurried around, impatiently waiting for the treats they knew would be coming soon. 

"Calm down, quit hassling me," Dutchy scolded, nudging one gently to the side. 

"They're very spoiled," he explained to Spot, and could have sworn he almost saw something resembling the very beginnings of a smile. 

_Yes_! The newest member of the household had still said next to nothing after the whole situation with his meds, but that was fair. 

He had a right to be pissy, but that wasn't going to stop Dutchy from at least _trying_ to make the poor little guy less miserable. 

Dutchy lifted the friendliest of his trio, Peach, onto the palm of his hand. 

"Want to hold her?"

The little hairless mouse twitched her nose in Spot's direction. 

She _knew_ there was a treat somewhere nearby, and clearly wanted to know who had it. 

The boy held out his hand almost timidly, and Dutchy let Peach scamper across his fingers. 

She snuffled and sniffled around Spot's hand, then moved along to his shirtsleeve. 

The boy squeaked in surprise at the tiny rodent, now scurrying in and out of his sweatshirt in search of the treat she was owed. 

Dutchy laughed, helping Spot gently shake the mouse out of his sleeve. Was that a smile Dutchy saw creeping up? Miss Peach was officially a miracle worker. 

The bald scrap plopped out of the fabric and into his hand, still bright eyed and filled with cheerful determination. She squeaked, nibbling at his thumbnail in protest of the lack of treats. 

Spot smiled, a real smile as Dutchy settled Peach into the cage beside a heap of apple crisps. 

"They're cute," he half-whispered. _Score!_

Words, and positive ones at that!

"And they know it." Dutchy grinned, heading to wash his hands. 

"Spoiled brats, all of them." Spot snorted a laugh, then settled back into his blanket like a turtle in a shell. 

"Is Skittery still home?" 

_Home_. Spot had never once referred to the apartment as home before. It made Dutchy feel kind of nauseous to hear, and he wasn't sure why. 

"I think so. He's probably getting ready to go. Anything you need?" 

Spot shook his head. "Just wondering." 

If Dutchy had mind reading powers, he wondered what exactly he'd be seeing right now. 

"You hungry?" That was one question he'd like to know the answer to, at least. 

Spot hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"I'll get some spaghetti started, how does that sound?" Dutchy wasn't much of a cook, but he could do spaghetti. Plus, the carbs would probably do the little twig some good. 

Spot followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table, pulling his hood up and settling his head in his arms. Dutchy managed to get a pot of water boiling without setting anything on fire, and soon enough, they had spaghetti. He'd even cooked it correctly, with no partly raw noodles whatsoever. Dutchy hated partly raw noodles. 

Was he supposed to put it in a bowl for Spot, or was that entire process strictly for little kids? He vaguely remembered his mother cutting his spaghetti into tiny pieces, but he'd been way younger than Spot for that. 

Finally, Dutchy decided to just fill a bowl and then ask, "want sauce on it?" 

Perfect compromise. He helped, but also Spot could have some control. Dutchy was so good at this. 

Spot shook his head. 

"I'll be sick." Right, Crohn's disease. Dutchy nodded and sat down with his own bowl, making a mental note to grill Skittery on a few more details of this particular condition. 

He slid Spot's bowl across the table, offering a fork out like a sword. 

The boy wasted no time eating, and Dutchy had never been prouder, except for maybe that time he'd gotten a perfect score on an anatomy test. The two were tied in terms of proud-ness, probably. 

"My dad usually-" Spot stopped himself mid-sentence. "Nevermind."

He stabbed at the pasta, suddenly not interested in eating anymore. 

The two sat in silence, Spot feeling awful and Dutchy feeling awful for not helping. 

"I miss them."

Dutchy twitched involuntarily. "Your family?" He asked, like an idiot. Of course Spot missed his family. Who else would he be talking about?

The kid gave him a slightly judgemental look, clearly thinking the same thing. 

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I… when can I go home?" 

Dutchy bit his lip. 

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Spot. They haven't told us anything yet. I know Jonathan's coming sometime to check in, so maybe we'll find out more then."

He tried to sound hopeful, but Spot just looked tired, so much more tired than a fourteen year old should ever look. 

"I guess so."

He shrugged, then went back to twisting his spaghetti in aimless circles. He looked up suddenly, almost looking Dutchy in the eyes, but not quite. 

"Do you think they miss me?" 

That quiet little voice, so timid and fragile, broke Dutchy's heart into dozens of pieces. 

"I know they do. You're a family," he promised. "They can't wait to have you home. Trust me."

Spot nodded, loosing a tiny bit of the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders. 

Dutchy really wished there was something more he could do to help, but there just wasn't. He could only wait and hope, and trust that things would be resolved sooner rather than later. 

At least Spot had some real food in his belly, and a smile on his face, even if only for a few short minutes. 

For now, that would have to be enough. 


	30. Error 404 title not found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me : I'm going to bed  
> Narrator : no, she didn't
> 
> Tw for mentions of past abuse.

Spot still really wanted to go home. He missed everyone, he missed his bed, he even missed having Bryan scold him for saying fuck. What was wrong with the word fuck? It was a perfectly fine word. Sure, it technically meant sex, which Spot had no interest in, but that was why it worked so well. 

"Fuck this" meant "I care as much about this as I do about the idea of sexual intimacy" which meant not at all. 

Bryan would tell him to stop that, and keep it kid friendly around Les, and Spot would grumble about it, but he would actually try next time. 

Spot missed home. He missed his family. He missed having a tubby little cat curled up on top of him.

"Hey, Spotty." Skittery was great, but he wasn't family, or a cat.

Spot looked up from the TV. He'd been watching National Geographic a lot lately, and telling himself it was just because that was what Dutchy had the most of. 

"What do you want for lunch?"

Spot rolled his shoulder. 

"Is "going back home" an option?"

Skittery sighed. "'Fraid not. I can do ramen?" 

Spot nodded. 

He'd expected that answer, so why was it still such a disappointment? 

"Skittery?" He called before the man could disappear into the kitchen. 

"Yeah?"

"When is Jonathan coming?" The kitchen was quiet enough to make Spot nervous again. 

"After lunch," he said, clearly being vague on purpose. 

Spot wrapped his blanket tight. He waited until the microwave beeped to ask more questions. 

"What's wrong?" He deserved to know that, at least. 

"Nothing's wrong, don't worry about it," Skittery assured him, handing over a steaming bowl of noodles. Spot scowled and crossed his arms. 

"Bullshit, Skittery. You're a shit liar."

 _Language,_ Bryan chided in his head. Spot wanted him here to say it for real. He wouldn't even mind if Bryan snapped at him about it, though that didn't really happen anyway. Bryan was always so calm. 

Skittery sighed again, and sat down annoyingly close. He looked at Spot with an unreadable and therefore scary expression. 

"Spot, this visit is really important, okay?" 

Spot focused on his ramen. Did ramen make him sick? He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten it.

"Important how?"

Skittery put a hand on his shoulder. 

"It's not just Jonathan's normal wellness things. This is about your dad, and if you'll be going home." 

Ramen or no ramen, Spot was going to be sick. 

"It should all go fine, okay? It's just…" Skittery trailed off. 

"It should be fine," he said, suddenly filled with obviously fake confidence. 

"Don't worry."

Spot was still going to worry, probably a lot. He was tired of worrying. 

Why couldn't Spot be allowed to worry about _normal_ things, like grades, or popularity, or the existential dread that came with being in high school?

No, he had to worry about losing his family. Spot felt his chest tighten. Today was important, and he didn't even know what to be ready for. Jonathan wasn't the one he had to convince this time. 

They'd never let him go home, and maybe he wouldn't even get to stay here with Dutchy and Skittery. It would be the same as before.

"Spot, are you alright?"

Spot, alone, just him. Home after home after home, none of them being real homes. And now that Spot knew what home was, knew what he'd be missing… He couldn't do that again. Couldn't go to the hospital with someone who wasn't Bryan, couldn't let somebody else buy his socks and make him dinner and pretend to care. 

"Spotty, look at me."

Spot hadn't called anyone dad before Bryan. Aiden had always been Daddy, because Spot was four back when he loved him, and that was what you called your dad when you were four. 

Maybe there was a part of him that was still four, a part that froze for years and years and didn't wake up until Bryan. Bryan, who had picked him up like a baby bird that fell out of the nest, who thawed out little four year old Spot with hugs and constant love, and now that kid was alone. Alone and vulnerable with no frosty shell to protect him. 

"Spot, can you hear me?"

Spot wanted Bryan. He wanted to be held and rocked and sung to and treated like he was ten years younger than he actually was. He wanted his daddy, the one who cared about him, and didn't kick him across the kitchen floor because he couldn't move out of the way fast enough. 

Spot didn't get a real dad when he was four. He'd been held, alright. Held against the wall or the floor while somebody big and terrifying hit or burned or pinched all over. 

"Spot!" Skittery shouted that one, and Spot jumped. He couldn't jump much, what with Skittery now gripping his forearms. Instinct told him to watch the man's hands, make sure they didn't move to hit him. 

_Don't hit me,_ his head wanted him to scream. His throat was closed too tight to say it. 

The hands stayed on his arms, holding, but not squeezing or shaking. 

This was fine. Spot stared at Skittery's eyes. He'd never really noticed how dark they were until just now. 

"Skitty, I wanna go home," Spot whispered. "When do I go home?" 

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. He wasn't a baby, this wasn't a simple question with a simple answer, but _God_ , he wanted it to be. 

"I don't know, Spot. If everything goes well?" Skittery ran a hand gently through Spot's hair. 

"By the end of the week." Spot nodded. He knew what would happen if things didn't go well. 

"Spot, I'm really-" 

"Stop. Just… stop." Spot was tired of hearing _sorry_. It didn't fix anything, just made whoever was saying it feel better. 

"Can I give you a hug?" Spot looked up in surprise. Since when was that something people asked about? And why did he like being asked first so much?

He nodded, and Skittery pulled him close. Spot tried to relax, to trust that it would all be okay, but to be completely honest, he couldn't _really_ relax until this was Bryan holding him, and that was all there was to it.


	31. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of vomiting

It was a beautiful day in the hundred acre wood, if the hundred acre wood was Skittery's apartment, and your idea of a beautiful day was one where you felt grossly incompetent and like a total failure, which, lately, was how Skittery had been feeling pretty much constantly. 

He'd gone to sleep at the normal time, or normal for him, at least, and woke up in a significantly more crowded bed than when he'd got there.

Spot. 

The boy was curled up beside him, not quite touching, but very close. This bed was entirely too small for two people. Well, Skittery wasn't about to kick him out, was he? Spot had already had one long night and a pretty awful day; he could stand to catch up on some sleep. 

They still didn't know if he'd be going home soon or not, and that was taking a toll on the boy. 

Skittery glanced at his phone for the time, and saw that he still had a few more hours before he actually had to get up and do things. 

Skittery relaxed back into bed for a little more sleep, but then the heap of blankets that was Spot shifted, waking up. 

"Skittery," he whispered, jerking awake and immediately pasting on his Tough Guy face. 

"I was just - it was so quiet in there, and- Fuck, sorry, I'll go." Spot kicked his legs out of the bed and shuffled to gather his blanket and painfully thin limbs. Kind of hard to be intimidating when you weighed about as much as a rabbit.

Skittery half-sat up and reached out to stop Spot from falling flat on his ass in his hurry to leave. 

"It's fine, you can stay." Spot hesitated, but sat back down. Skittery sat up fully and helped Spot shift his blanket around a bit to be more comfortable. The boy lay back down, and after a moment of debate, he decided to risk putting an arm around Spot's shoulders. Immediately, that skinny little twig of a boy was snuggled up beside him, desperate to be held. 

The false exterior of being independent and tough shattered immediately, replaced with a kid. Just a kid. 

"Tired?" Skittery asked, taking in the dark circles under the boy's eyes. Dutchy said he hadn't slept much last night. He never seemed to, did he?

Spot nodded, wrapping his blanket up to his chin. 

"Tired…" he breathed, sounding almost relaxed for once. 

Skittery cursed himself for not remembering this. Spot had always been very snuggly, from small baby Spot to slightly bigger teenager Spot. 

Skittery felt the boy's head sink heavier and heavier onto his arm, drifting off into a relatively peaceful sleep. Peaceful compared to the rest of his reality, at least. 

Skittery let out a small sigh, careful not to wake poor Spot. 

He knew they would get a solid answer soon, and get out of this state of limbo, they just had to trust that it would be the answer they all wanted. 

* * *

Spot curled up on his bed and pretended he couldn't hear Dutchy and Skittery talking about him in the kitchen. 

He hadn't moved significantly for almost two full days, and he wasn't about to start now. 

None of them had any idea how the "meeting" had gone. Jonathan was already convinced that Spot should go home, but it wasn't about him anymore. It was about that _other_ lady, and what she thought. She didn't look like she thought anything when she left. 

She'd seemed nice, but plenty of people were nice. That didn't mean they were always right. 

Why couldn't they just make up their minds? Somewhere in the back of his thoughts was a little voice reminding Spot that Skittery was expecting a phone call _today_ , to give them an answer. Spot pushed that voice out of his mind and into the darkest corner of his existence. He did not want to think about that, and all the possibilities that came with it. 

Spot wanted to go home so badly it hurt, or maybe that was just his stomach being upset that he'd actually been eating a little bit of real food lately, and it wasn't used to that. 

Bryan made plenty of food that didn't do that to him. 

Spot curled up a little tighter. 

Skittery and Dutchy were talking loud enough to be heard pretty easily, so Spot tuned in to the messed up podcast of Talking About Spot Behind His Back.

"...he's gonna die, like, for real," Dutchy said, probably wringing his hands or in some other way fiddling. 

"He's already barely eating," Skittery agreed, and Spot could be completely certain that he was the topic of discussion.

He'd eaten half a bowl of ramen two days before, and then a cup of Jell-o each day following; Skittery needed to learn to quit expecting more than that. 

"What do we do, Sebby?" Dutchy sounded so sad, Spot almost felt guilty. Maybe there was a part of him, somewhere, that did feel bad, but it was buried under all the layers covering everything he didn't want to feel. 

If Spot let himself feel guilty for upsetting Dutchy, he'd open up the floodgates to feel sad and lonely and betrayed and all sorts of other _wonderful_ emotions. 

Skittery's response was too quiet for him to hear, which was annoying. He would have liked to be in the know as far as plans were concerned. If they decided to dump him, Spot wanted to know as soon as possible. 

The phone rang. 

Spot's stomach flipped into his chest and he sat up straight, bolting out and to the bathroom to be sick. 

He retched into the toilet, vaguely aware of Dutchy rubbing his back. 

Awful. 

Spot sat down on the cold tile floor, curling his knees tight to his chest. There wasn't anything in his stomach except bile at this point, so vomiting just hurt. 

"You alright?" Dutchy asked nervously. Spot nodded. He wasn't alright, but who cared what Spot actually felt?

He'd say what they wanted, and then maybe things would work out. 

"Spotty!" Skittery's shout made him jump, slamming his side into Dutchy's chest. 

This bathroom sure was getting crowded. 

"Spotty, get your shit together, your dad's coming to pick you up."

The noise Spot made surely wasn't human. 

"I-I… home?" Skittery nodded, beaming. "You're going home."


	32. Home

Spot paced the apartment from end to end. He'd been ready to leave for what felt like hours, shoes on, everything shoved in his backpack. Ready to go _home_. 

Home where his family was, and they still wanted him, and it would all be okay again. 

"Spot, why don't you sit down?" Skittery and Dutchy both sat on opposite ends of the couch. They both looked pretty happy to be rid of Spot, which probably should hurt his feelings, but he was way too happy to care. 

"When is he coming?" Spot had asked that about nine times, if he was counting correctly, which he probably was not. 

"Any minute now." Skittery's soothing did nothing to calm Spot's excitement. He wanted Bryan. Now, preferably. 

"Did you pack up your meds?" Dutchy asked, apparently trying to distract Spot from wearing a hole in the rug. It was a pretty good distraction seeing as Spot had not, actually, remembered to do that. He headed for the bathroom, where he'd been keeping them, and started shoving pill bottles into his bag. A stupid amount of pills. Surely they weren't all necessary?

Spot was zipping his backpack closed when the knock came. 

He slammed past Skittery, who had apparently been dumb enough to stand in the way of the door, throwing himself into Bryan's arms. 

"Sean, baby, oh, God," Bryan choked, hugging him tight. Spot squeaked, not because it hurt or came as a surprise, but just because he didn't know what other sound to make. 

"Daddy, daddy."

He was crying again, but not very much this time. 

"Can we go home? Now, Dad, please?" No offense to Skittery and Dutchy, but Spot wanted the fuck out of their stupid apartment. The sooner he was home, the better. 

"Yes, my sweet boy." Bryan gave him a squeeze. "We can go home." 

Spot hummed like a happy little microwave, still gripping Bryan's sweater tight. Bryan laughed softly. "Alright, let's go." 

The man slid one arm down under Spot's rear and picked him up effortlessly. Spot wrapped his legs and arms tight. No way was he letting go, not until he knew for sure that this was really real. 

Gentle circles rubbed across his back, up and down and all over, so familiar and so _right_. 

Finally, finally, finally. 

Spot was talking, he knew that much. What, exactly, he was saying, he had no clue, but that wasn't important. He was safe and going home and everything was going to be okay again. 

Bryan rubbed his back with one hand and carried him with the other. Spot supposed he should feel stupid, being carried like a baby, but Spot Conlon wasn't exactly known for doing what he _should_ do. 

Why was Bryan letting go? Spot's heart tried to escape again. 

_No, no, no, don't leave me, not again, I can't do it again_.

"Honey, I'm just going around to the driver's side, alright?" Bryan's hand traced along his scalp. He wasn't leaving. Just going around. He'd be back. Back in seconds, not days. 

Spot released his grip, and Bryan left. This felt entirely too familiar, and Spot wanted it to stop. 

Bryan hesitated outside the door to talk to Skittery.

He couldn't back out now. He _wouldn't_. 

"Dad?"

Bryan got back in the car, with Spot, where he belonged, and now he could breathe again. The car started, they pulled away from the apartment complex, and headed for home. 

* * *

Upon seeing his boy again, Bryan felt an almost physical weight lift from his shoulders, replaced by another, much more pleasant weight of Sean's entire self, ramming into his chest. 

The boy squealed and bounced on his heels, squeaking and chirping and just in general making sounds that weren't human, or even Sean-like. 

He was _smiling,_ crying too, but smiling. 

"Daddy, daddy." The boy clung to Bryan tight. His heart was melting once again for this kid. 

"Can we go home? Now, Dad, please?" 

Bryan clung back. "Yes, my sweet boy. We can go home." 

Another little squeal, and Sean still kept holding on tight. He was so young, so innocent, so _happy_. 

"Alright," Bryan laughed softly. "Let's go." 

He crouched to get a better hold, though that probably wasn't really necessary. Sean was going to hold on like a leech, wherever and however Bryan walked. He lifted the boy off the ground, and Sean wrapped his legs up like a baby koala. That was a better comparison than 'leech'. 

It was far too easy to lift that slip of a boy, and Bryan found himself wishing for more difficulty. He was too light still. Small and fragile, but for once, absolutely and completely happy. 

"Dad, I love you. I love you, can we go home?"

"We're going, honey," Bryan assured him, rubbing the boy's shoulders. 

"Everyone's waiting. David, Sarah, Les."

"Home. Home, Dad," he babbled, snuggling into Bryan's neck. 

"Yes, sweetheart. We're going home." 

Bryan smiled, holding a boy who was shaking with happiness. 

"Dad, I missed you. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Sean." 

_God_ , he'd missed him, missed him so much it hurt. But it was alright now. He had his boy back, and soon their family would be all together again. 

Skittery carried Sean's blanket and backpack out to the car, settling his things in the back, and Bryan settled Sean in the front passenger seat. The boy gripped his shirt tight and wouldn't let him straighten back up. "Dad?" 

He suddenly looked terrified, as if Bryan was going to abandon him again. 

"Honey, I'm just going around to the driver's side, alright?" Bryan ran a hand through his messy hair. 

Sean nodded slowly. His grip loosened, then let go. Bryan shut the door and hurried around the front of the car, where Sean could see him the entire time. 

"Sebastian," he said, remembering the young man standing there just before getting back in the car. 

"Thank you for looking after him. I can't tell you how much it meant to us." 

Sebastian shifted awkwardly. "It was our pleasure. Just glad he's going home." 

Bryan smiled, but was interrupted from anything else he might have said by a very impatient "Dad?" piping up from the car. 

"See you around."

"See you."

Bryan climbed back in the car, backed out of the parking space, and headed out. 

Home. 


	33. Skee owldeokdhusisopslebropfmvgsioeoepsklsosieyhshsueyjejsid pro lskdjdijd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coherent titles are for straight people who arent writing at 2 am.  
> If you're reading this, I love you.

Spot curled up in another new bed. David slept in the same room as him in the rental house they were staying in, but he wasn't in bed yet. Spot wondered where the beds came from, since the ones in their house were presumably still there. Repairs needed done, the thought of which made him feel absolutely nauseous with guilt. 

Better not to think about that. He'd think about good things. Things like being with David and Sarah and Les and Bryan again, even if it was a different house. Spot had pajamas again now, plaid ones. Soft and warm and good. Clean, also. Spot liked when things were clean. 

He liked this new bed much better than the one at Skittery's place for one very specific reason. Bryan was sitting on the end of this one, tucking him in like he was a baby. Spot didn't think anyone had ever done that in his life, and it should probably make him happy, right? 

Spot wasn't happy. He couldn't manage it. Happy was too much now.

"Dad?" 

Spot hesitated, not sure how to put his thoughts into words. 

"Yes, Sean?" Bryan rubbed Spot's hand comfortingly. 

"I'm… I'm sorry," he whispered. Spot stared at his hands, one resting awkwardly on his chest, the other held in Bryan's hand. Both of them were suddenly very blurry.

"Oh, Sean," Bryan sighed. "It's alright, kiddo." He reached up to brush Spot's hair aside. 

"I'm just glad to have you home."

But it wasn't home. Spot had fucked that one up big time. 

"I didn't mean to," he mumbled. "An' I know that's not good enough, and it doesn't fix anything, and-" a sob escaped, interrupting Spot's rambling. 

"Sean, sweetheart," Bryan sighed again. "I know, I know you didn't. It's going to be fine, alright?" 

Spot whimpered, and hated himself for it.

Bryan kept acting like Spot hadn't gone and burned the _fucking house down_. He couldn't keep forgetting forever, so what would happen when Bryan finally had to acknowledge it? 

The adoption wasn't official yet; he could still send Spot away. He would later, if everybody didn't do that thing Lisa said, where they had to "acknowledge the trauma to get through it". Bryan wasn't acknowledging, and that scared Spot more than he wanted to admit. 

"Daddy, I'm _sorry_ ," his voice sounded strained, even to himself. "I'm so sorry and you won't admit that I fucked up! I can't-" he choked. "I can't be sorry if you won't let me, and if I hadn't done something wrong then why did I have to go?" 

No, he wasn't crying. Those weren't tears, and everything was just fine. It had to be fine, he couldn't do anything about it not being fine, so it was fine. 

_Home. You're home, it's all fine._ So why did he feel so bad? Everything came out all at once. It was too much. He wanted to go home and he wanted everything to be okay for once. It was never okay and it never would be okay. He'd always hurt, because they couldn't fix him, and he'd always be alone, because nobody would want him. Nobody had ever wanted Spot, except maybe his parents, but they wanted to hurt him too, and they wanted drugs more than they'd wanted their baby, and that hurt too. 

Everything was so complicated that they became simple, and Spot just… hurt. 

He wailed wordlessly, reaching out for Bryan like the pathetic little baby he was.

"Oh, honey, come here." Bryan cuddled him close as Spot heaved. 

"Daddy, I'm s-sorry."

"It's alright, Sean." Bryan rubbed his back, rocking back and forth. 

Spot gasped for air. 

"You're completely forgiven, okay?" 

Spot nodded. He wiped the tears away, only to replace them immediately with new ones. That was stupid. Spot didn't want to cry anymore, he wanted to be happy. Why wasn't he allowed to be happy?

"Why does everything have to suck?" Spot sniffled. 

Bryan chuckled, wiping away a few of his own tears for some reason. 

"Love is hard sometimes. That's what makes it worth it." 

What was that supposed to mean? Sounded absolutely masochistic. 

"I fuck everything up, Dad." 

"You don't," Bryan said firmly. "You make mistakes. What matters is, are you trying."

"Yes!" Spot emphasized, shifting to look Bryan in the eyes.

"I'm trying, I promise! I try so hard, it just-" Bryan hushed him. 

"I know you're trying, kiddo. You try, and sometimes you fail, just like everyone else. That's alright. I will still love you."

"You don't fuck it up." Why Spot felt the need to argue with Bryan when he was just saying "you aren't literal garbage", he wasn't entirely sure. 

"Baby, I fail all the time. I let them take you away from me." He gripped Spot's shoulders tight, but not painfully. 

"I didn't fight to stop it from happening in the first place, and I can never apologize enough."

Bryan's shirt was the best place for Spot's face to go, he decided. Soft and warm and he didn't have to look Bryan in the eye. 

They sat like that for a little while, curled up in an awkward sort of comfort. Spot was too big to sit on Bryan's lap, but the man didn't say anything about it. 

They just sat, a warm little bubble on the unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar house, safe and secure and wonderful. 

* * *

Sean was the one to first break the silence. 

"It was scary," he whispered, voice fragile as a historic newspaper, crinkled and delicate. 

"I didn't know what was going to happen, and Skitty didn't know anything either." The boy sniffled into Bryan's shirt. 

"I wanted you, 'cause I had to be alone a lot. Skittery was asleep and Dutchy had work and I was alone and-" 

Bryan's heart broke as Sean trailed off into quiet whimpers. He was a child, a frightened child whose world had never once been stable. 

Bryan had promised him stability, given the boy time and space to get settled and comfortable as a part of their family. To be safe, vulnerable, to let all the guards down. And then Bryan abandoned him. Not deliberately, but it happened. 

"I love you, Sean. More than I could ever tell you."

"I love you too," Sean whispered. He'd stopped crying now, red-rimmed eyes blinking away the last remaining tears. 

"What- oh, uh, sorry. Should I go...?" 

David stood in the doorway, weighted blanket draped over his shoulders. It was a miracle the boy could stay standing with such a heavy cape. 

To his surprise, Sean reached out before Bryan could say anything. 

David sat right up against the wall, further crowding the bed. Sean leaned away from Bryan and into David's side. Bryan looked to David for a cue. Sometimes his oldest boy wanted touch, sometimes he didn't. Luckily, today seemed to be a touch-friendly day, which was surprising considering just how much hugging had been done the second Sean walked in the door. 

Surprising, but not unwelcome. 

Bryan shifted to make the entire arrangement more comfortable, with himself in the middle of the bed and a boy latched on to either arm. Just pleasant, quiet, and something quite possibly like healing. 


	34. dedicated to art.by.antii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of past abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art.by.antii did fanart of my fic, so from here on out, my entire life is dedicated to their honor.   
> I'm so fucking happy about it, its given me so much joy I cannot express it.

As much as Bryan might have wished things would just go back to normal, he knew that wasn't a realistic expectation. Sean was struggling to cope with everything. He didn't want to talk to his therapist, and Bryan could hardly go five feet without having the kid scrambling to follow. 

It broke his heart, and a few plates when Sean slammed into his back unexpectedly. 

"It's alright, Sean," Bryan tried to soothe the boy. 

"It was an accident."

Sean looked up at him uncertainly. "Okay. Sorry," he repeated. 

Bryan smiled at him as a small reassurance. 

"It's fine." He ruffled the boy's hair. 

"Kid, you need to shower, you're all greasy," he joked, but it was kind of true. He could feel the slight griminess, which could quickly become a much bigger problem. He did not want a repeat of the lice situation anytime soon. 

Sean stiffened at the suggestion. 

"No." 

"Yes," Bryan insisted firmly, realizing that he should probably quit being a total pushover, at least about things like this. Sean was normally borderline obsessive about cleanliness, so this whole shower strike was worryingly out of character. 

"You can't _make me_ ," Sean snapped, fiddling with his jacket sleeve, eyes darting around. 

"Sean," Bryan sighed, attempting to guide the boy upstairs to the bathroom. They had to work through this separation anxiety before school started back up, that was for sure. 

"You've got to start taking care of yourself." He nearly added on _I won't always be here to remind you_ , but quickly stopped himself upon realizing what a terribly easy to misunderstand statement that would be. 

"I don't want to." The boy's voice quivered just a little, and he planted his feet firmly in the hallway just outside the bathroom door.

"Fuck you. You said I could stay."

The clear accusation to that statement finally clicked all the pieces into place. 

_Oh_. 

He thought Bryan would abandon him again, like before. Sean had come out of the hotel shower to find Jonathan waiting to take him away. Bryan cursed himself inwardly for not realizing how much that would mess with a child. 

"Sean," he said gently, pushing aside the terrible guilt stabbing at his chest. 

"You aren't going anywhere. I promise." Sean scowled at the floor. 

"I'll still be here when you get out, and you'll still live with us, alright? That's not going to change."

The boy bit his lip, the gears in his head turning round and round. 

"You have to stay."

"Alright," Bryan rubbed his shoulders. "I'll stay." 

He sat down on the toilet lid, and Sean nodded, suddenly fragile again. That boy changed moods so quickly. One minute he was all prickles, the next, a soap bubble about to pop into nothingness.

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled, fiddling again. 

"Sweetheart, you don't need to be sorry." Bryan needed to be sorry. He'd failed his son terribly, and now Sean was the one hurt by it.

Sean nodded, clearly unconvinced but not interested in arguing it. 

Bryan turned away as the boy climbed into the shower to get undressed behind the curtain. Things shifted around, then the water turned on and Bryan was able to relax a bit. 

He let himself zone out, mind wandering anywhere and nowhere. He rested his head against the cool bathroom counter, suddenly aware of just how exhausting the past few weeks had been. 

"Dad?"

"I'm still here."

"Okay." His voice quivered just a bit, squeezing Bryan's heart like the sharp teeth of a bear trap. 

Bryan sat, semi-comfortable, and he worried. He worried about all of his kids, pretty much at all times, but lately, Sean had taken up much of his thoughts. 

Different opinions from doctors and therapists and psychiatrists that Sean hadn't known were psychiatrists bounced around in Bryan's mind. Trauma was the main thing they brought up nearly every time. 

His baby was traumatized from just about everything that had happened in his short life, and there was precious little Bryan could do to fix it. 

Anything Bryan could do, he would do. Even as simple as sitting in the bathroom with a kid who was just… scared. 

Finally the water shut off and a hand reached out from behind the curtain to grab a towel. 

Sean stepped unsteadily out of the tub, towel wrapped tight around his waist. After not even half a second of hesitation, he leaned into Bryan's chest. 

Bryan brushed the boy's dripping hair back, earning a little grumble as Sean shook his hair out like a puppy. 

"Okay, silly," Bryan laughed lightly. "Hugs later. You need to put some pants on first, alright?" Sean whined pitifully, but he moved to do as he was told. 

"Jerk," he mumbled, and Bryan snorted. A little smile peeked out from under Sean's wet mess of hair. 

"Sure, kiddo. I'm a real jerk. Go put your clothes on." Bryan patted the boy awkwardly on the side of his leg. How to navigate a young teen who occasionally acted like a very small child was something he'd not been particularly well prepared for, so this was a bit of a learning curve.

Sean wandered off to his bedroom to put clothes on, because of course neither of them thought to bring them along _before_ getting in the shower. Bryan smiled in genuine amusement, however slight it might be. 

That forgetfulness was _normal_. Sean had walls up everywhere. He remembered things that didn't make sense, because in his little world, he had to. 

It had taken weeks for the boy to leave his bedroom door unlocked at night, to trust that nobody in this home would come after him as he slept. 

In his world, defense needed to be constant. He could never afford to let his guard down for a moment. Bryan's heart broke for the little boy inside, putting up walls to stay safe from a world that should never have been dangerous in the first place.

In his world, with so few belongings, losing one or two meant a lot. It meant the difference between warm and cold, the ability to keep clean and to take what little happiness he could find. 

In his world, remembering to set your key in its specific place meant not taking a beating for losing it. Bryan knew that story entirely too well, even after hearing it only once. What kind of person expected a third grader to walk himself home from school, then stay in the house for hours, alone?

Giving Sean his own house key didn't make that okay, and punishing him for losing it was just cruel. 

Bryan still remembered offering him a key to _their_ home, just in case. He would never forget the way the boy looked at the thing like it was releasing toxic radiation, so strong was his memory of pain from the last time he'd been given a house key. 

He didn't usually have that look anymore. Bryan wanted to believe it was because the boy trusted him, but there was definitely a part of that scared little boy still there, ready to jump out and go on the defensive.

Bryan got to his feet and headed back downstairs. Sean would probably come to find him soon, and Bryan wanted to be settled somewhere this time, rather than carrying dishes to the sink. 

He could make some small stability in this kind of crazy life they had. 


	35. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meep moop im sleep sloop.  
> the end, have a chapter.

Winter holidays, Spot decided, were uncomfortable and weird and should be illegal. Sure, plenty of dictators and stuff had probably tried to outlaw Christmas and then immediately got overthrown, but Spot didn’t care about history, so nobody could prove that to him either way. 

“I can’t see my mirror with your leg there,” Bryan said for what was probably the thirty seventh time in the past hour. Spot’s stomach had hurt the entire car ride, not because of nerves, of course. He moved to keep from blocking the window and probably causing a car crash or some other disaster to add to his list of fuckups. 

Knees curled tight to his chest and probably making the seatbelt a danger to his internal organs, Spot stared out the window. He wasn’t nervous to meet Bryan’s parents and siblings. Not at all. 

Besides, it was only for the three days immediately surrounding Christmas, which everyone assured him they “never made a huge deal about anyway”. 

Was that to avoid everything being awkward with David, Sarah, and Les, or was Bryan’s family just not big on celebrating things? Spot wasn’t a big fan of celebrating things either. It was always uncomfortable, and nobody actually wanted him there. 

He felt along the bottom edge of his backpack, where his little gifts for everyone were stashed out of sight. 

Thank goodness he’d been allowed to get them from the house, and it was almost fixed, which was nice. Spot still wanted to throw up the entire time he was there, no matter how much Bryan might say he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore. He was going to feel guilty; Bryan couldn’t stop him, so fuck him. But not actually. Spot no longer meant it when he told Bryan to fuck off. Usually. 

What if their family didn’t like him? Spot wasn’t likeable. He didn’t even like himself most of the time. 

“Do we have to listen to the Beatles?” Les asked/whined from the backseat. Spot always got shotgun due to nobody wanting to deal with him puking all over the back of the car. 

"The Beatles founded rock and roll, you ungrateful child," Bryan declared, but took out the CD, thus proving how old he was that he still used CDs instead of a Spotify playlist or something. 

"Oh, this is much worse," Spot said as soon as the next CD started. "Bob Dylan _sucks_."

Sarah made an indignant shrieking noise with no actual words. . 

“How dare you?” David asked, smacking the back of Spot’s head with his notebook. 

"Truth hurts," Spot deadpanned, before realizing he'd managed to forget to be nervous for thirty seconds, but that realization made him remember it again, of course. 

"How many people are going to be there?"

The change of subject made Spot's stomach hurt with what absolutely was not nerves, but he did want to know the answer. 

"Not too many," Bryan said, keeping his eyes on the road. "My parents and my sister's family are all that could make it work this year, so us, plus five others." 

Spot nodded. That would be fine. 

"Grandma Norma is cool," Sarah added in. "She'll probably insist on hugging you." 

Spot scowled. "I'll bite her fingers off."

" _No,_ you will not bite my mother's fingers off," Bryan said sternly.

"She needs those to knit." 

Was that supposed to be a joke? Did old people actually like knitting? Spot didn't know any old people except Racetrack's grandmother, and she was definitely something else. 

He shifted in his seat again. 

" _Sean,"_ Bryan half groaned, half laughed. "I can't see with your boney legs in the way." 

Spot, being an evil gremlin, wriggled to put his feet on the dashboard. 

"Better?"

"Worse, actually. But thanks for the effort. Sit like a human please."

Spot sighed dramatically, making Bryan smile. He'd been making Bryan sad and stressed way too much lately. This was much better. 

"Are we almost there?" 

Apparently two and a half hours in the car was enough to make even Les a little whiney. 

"Ten minutes," Bryan promised. "We're almost there." 

Spot shifted nervously, but kept his feet in a reasonable, human position. How was one supposed to ask "what if they hate me?" and not sound like it's your first day of kindergarten or something? You couldn't, or at least, Spot couldn't figure out how to. Bryan just kept saying "they'll like you," and "it's going to be just fine," as if Spot cared either way. It made no difference if Bryan's family liked him or not. Spot cared more about what might happen if they didn't. In Spot's experience, people valued their family's opinion, sometimes enough to change their own. He'd been screwed over by that once, and once was enough. 

Bryan pulled into the driveway of a neat little one story house with what some might have considered an excessive amount of Christmas lights. Spot's heart jumped right into his throat. _This is fine, this is fine, this is fine_. Spot Conlon wasn't supposed to get nervous over things like this. He didn't get nervous, period. Spot Conlon-Denton, however, was terrified of losing the Denton part of his name. Spot Conlon-Denton was still twelve years old, and that married couple said they wanted him, and then their parents said they should go adopt a baby instead, and suddenly they didn’t want Spot anymore. 

“Too many behavioral issues.” 

Spot still had issues. If anything, they’d gotten worse. Burning the house down was an issue. Puking if you ate anything besides Jell-O was an issue. Spot was just a heap of issues with a small side of Spot tossed in just for fun. 

“Sean, are you alright?”

Spot jolted when he realized he was still sitting in the car. Bryan was the only one there still, as everyone else had apparently already gone inside. 

“Yeah, I’m… yeah. It’s fine.”

Bryan reached over and rubbed his shoulder, and Spot prayed he wouldn’t push it. 

“Alright. You need something, you tell me, okay?” Spot nodded, avoiding anything that might resemble eye contact. 

“Alright.” 

He’d be just fine, Spot assured himself. He almost believed it. 


	36. Polar Bear

Almost immediately, Spot decided that he was _not_ fine, this was not good, he hated everything. 

"Hello, you must be Sean," beamed an old woman. "I'm your Grandma Norma."

Spot really wanted to tell Grandma Norma to fuck off, but probably that would be a bad thing to say to Bryan's mother. She was very old, he realized, taking in her papery skin. Bryan wasn't all that old, so why did his mom so closely resemble a tortoise bundled up in a Christmas sweater?

Fuck, why was she _hugging him?_ Spot stiffened at the touch. He did not want to be touched, thank you very much. Not by a total stranger. 

_Help, help, help,_ his mind screamed out for Bryan. Spot kept his mouth shut tight to keep from saying something he shouldn't. 

_Too much too much too much._

"Merry Christmas, Mom."

Bryan's greeting saved Spot from this terribly awkward and stressful embrace, as Norma decided to switch and hug her son. Bryan received it much better than Spot did. 

Spot wanted to go home already. 

Bryan let go of his mother and put a warm, steady hand on Spot's shoulder. He was not shaking. Spot didn't stand around trembling in people's doorways. Never. 

Bryan squeezed his upper arm gently, enough for Spot to feel it, but Norma wouldn't see what a wuss he usually was. 

Spot reached up and squeezed Bryan's hand back. He was okay for now. This was fine. 

Robotically, Spot allowed himself to be led fully into the house. Clean, he noted. Old fashioned, but clean. Not even dusty. 

The living room could have come straight out of a magazine from the fucking sixties, and probably hadn't been changed at all since then, but it was all very tidy. 

"Dad, this is Sean." 

Bryan introduced him to an old man, apparently Bryan's dad. Spot kept his gaze intently on the sofa and tried to smile. 

"Hi." 

"Hello, Sean. It's nice to meet you." Spot decided he liked this guy more than Norma for one simple reason; he wasn't hugging him. 

Was this supposed to be so formal? At home, being family didn't feel formal. It was just them and a pile of cats, and Spot liked it that way.

He listened to all the talking with half of his mind. Les was happy to see his grandparents, and was "getting so big, soon he'd be taller than Grandma!" David and Sarah were talking to Bryan's dad, whose name Spot hadn't been told yet. "Band was good. New director halfway through the season." 

That had been Spot's fault. He fucked that up almost immediately. 

Norma said that Roy and Angela would be there soon. Who were Roy and Angela? Spot didn't remember. Had Bryan told him? Probably. He'd just forgotten it, because he was a fucking idiot who didn't know how to think about anyone but himself. 

"Angela's been doing just fine, expecting any day now."

Spot gripped the strap on his backpack tight. 

Everyone was looking at him, and pretending like they weren't. They all thought Spot was going to explode or something. His face heated up with shame. Spot was a problem to be worried about, a wild animal that didn't _usually_ bite.

"Bob, why don't you get some music going?" 

That was Norma, probably looking for a distraction. Apparently Bryan's dad was named Bob. The name suited him. Short, round, simple. Bob. 

Spot was losing his mind. 

The man stood up, and the rug at his feet stood up too.

Spot yelped and jumped behind Bryan. Yes, he was acting like a fucking child, and yes, that was incredibly embarrassing. But nobody had told him there was going to be a fucking _polar bear_ here. 

"Oh, hell, I forgot to warn you," Bryan cursed. 

"That's Joey. He's very gentle, don't worry."

Spot was going to worry, thank you very much. The enormous dog moved to sniff at him. 

He squeaked at the wet nose snuffling at his hand. Spot tried to push himself farther behind Bryan, but that was physically impossible at this point. He wasn't _that_ much smaller than the man. 

"Oh, don't worry," Norma laughed. Spot tensed up. 

"Hey, it's alright," Bryan tried to pull him out from behind his back. 

"No, Dad, no. Stop, please," Spot pleaded, feeling more and more embarrassed by the second, but still not able to stop. Everyone was staring, probably. He looked stupid. They'd hate him. This was awful. Spot hated dogs so much. 

Bryan crouched on the floor right in front of the enormous hairy _thing_. It leaned in to be petted, thick white hair enveloping Bryan's hand. 

"See? He's fine." 

Spot gripped Bryan's shirt. Just because it was fine _now_ didn't mean it was always calm like this. 

"Joey, come here," Sarah cooed, patting the floor next to her. 

Joey galumphed his way across the room like an enormous sentient ball of fluff, flopping down half on top of Sarah. 

Spot tried to relax, to look like a normal person who a pair of old people would be alright with their son bringing into the family for good.

He suspected he just looked twitchy. Twitchy was better than unstable or violent. People didn't usually object to keeping twitchy around for a little longer. They might not like _forever_ , though. 

Bryan got up and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Come sit," he guided Spot to the couch.

Spot sat, making sure Bryan was in between him and Bob, so nobody would expect him to carry a conversation. 

It felt like the entire room sighed in relief when he curled up, so relieved that they'd managed to go the first five minutes without absolutely flipping out. Spot hated himself. He made things so much harder for everyone. 

"It's so good to see you all again," Norma smiled, then added, "And to meet you, Sean. It's good to have everyone."

Spot felt very much like she was lying. He wasn't good, either in general _or_ to have over for Christmas. 

_Don't fucking cry_ , he ordered himself. Then he'd really look stupid. 

The doorbell rang, and Spot twitched nervously. More people. Roy and Angela, probably. Angela who was pregnant. Spot focused on facts. Things he knew. Easy things. He could smile, staying right here, tightly pressed between Bryan and the arm of the couch. 

As long as Spot didn't move, he couldn't fuck this up. 


	37. *insert title here*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk I'm anxious and slow and I hate myself, be nice about this one.

As it turned out, Angela was _very_ expecting. She looked like she might pop any second, but Spot wasn’t going to say that, obviously. The woman was bundled up in a big winter coat, but she still looked very obviously pregnant, and apparently also had another child, which seemed like a very bad idea to Spot. A baby _and_ a kid seemed like a lot of work. The little boy ran and tackled Les, and nobody seemed surprised, so apparently that was expected. 

Spot was not going to move from this spot until they went home, he decided. 

“Hey everyone!” Roy loudly and cheerfully shouted into the room. “Merry Christmas!” 

Spot twitched, again, because he was fucking stupid and a coward and didn’t know how to trust anyone. Bryan rubbed his shoulders as Roy wished David and Sarah a happy Hanukkah in a tone that wasn’t condescending, but also wasn’t what it _should have_ been. Maybe that was just because Hanukkah was _over already,_ so why was Roy saying that unless he just wanted to look good? 

_Stop being negative_ , Spot ordered himself. These people seemed nice enough, he was just being an idiot. 

Bryan moved like he was going to get up, then seemed to change his mind. Spot wasn't going to complain. 

"Merry Christmas, Roy," Bryan greeted with a smile. 

"Good to see you again."

For some reason, this made Roy laugh, setting his bags down and sitting next to Bryan on the couch. 

"And who is this?"

 _This_ was probably referring to Spot. He should introduce himself, right? Except Spot's voice was apparently out of order today. 

"This is Sean," Bryan smoothly saved the very short conversation with his introduction. 

"The newest one of mine. Sean, this is my sister's husband, Roy."

Spot managed a little nod, but his mind was still stuck on the word _mine_. It didn't matter how many times Bryan said it, Spot wasn't going to feel one hundred percent complete until the adoption was finalized and he was really and officially family. 

"Not much for words then, are you Sean?" 

"Sometimes, " Spot mumbled. He leaned a little bit closer to Bryan. 

Roy seemed nice enough, but first impressions weren't always right. In Spot's experience, most people had something that would set them off, and he had a pretty good track record of accidentally finding out what. 

Angela waddled over to join them after hugging her parents. 

"So good to see you, Bryan!" The woman beamed, cheeks as red from the cold outside as her hair. That smile was kind of familiar. Spot shuddered. She looked like his mother. Not a lot, but something about her smile, how it was so wide and open and she squinted her eyes a little too much. 

It was distinct, and Spot didn't like it. 

Bryan squeezed his shoulder, and Spot squeezed back. 

He'd be okay. Angela was nice so far, she just _looked_ like someone who wasn't. 

Spot looked around the room as Bryan hugged his sister awkwardly with his one free arm. Les and whoever that kid was were now sitting on the floor, chattering about something, and Sarah still had the enormous dog occupied. David talked to his grandparents, and Roy and Angela sat next to Bryan. 

Everyone was accounted for, and they were all in a good mood. Spot could breathe a little easier with that in mind. The rest of this day would probably be more or less predictable, right? They'd sit here for a while, then probably have to eat something that would upset his stomach, and then go to sleep. Probably a little more socializing here or there, but Spot could manage it. Everyone seemed nice enough, if a little awkward around the weird, twitchy new addition to their family. 

All in all, this was going better than expected. 

-_-_-_-_-

Bryan hadn't had _low_ expectations, exactly. He'd worried that Sean would spend the next three days completely on edge, jumpy and snappy and in general miserable, but so far, things were going smoothly. 

Not perfect by any means, of course. Bryan had completely forgotten to mention his parents' Great Pyrenees, the kind of pet that a kid who was afraid of dogs should _probably_ have been warned about ahead of time. 

All in all, though, Sean had remained more or less calm, wedged in between Bryan's side and the arm of the couch. Bryan rubbed his skinny little shoulders every so often, and the boy relaxed more and more. God, he was so small. Surely he should be putting on weight by now… 

Bryan shook the thoughts out of his head. He'd save those questions for the next doctor's appointment, not to worry about right this second. 

What he had to worry about right this second was Les and Danny knocking over a christmas tree with ornaments older than Bryan all over it. That would not be a good start to this visit at all. 


	38. Norma/Nonna solidarity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did I give this new grandma such a similar name to Racetrack's grandma, now autocorrect keeps fucking with me.  
> If it says Nonna anywhere in here, assume it was autocorrect deciding that Norma is apparently not a name.

Somehow, Spot found himself in the kitchen, and he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. He'd gotten up to go take a fucking piss, and now was roped into Cooking with Norma, the show where a very old woman tries to show Spot around a kitchen where absolutely nothing looks like a utensil. 

Why the fuck did her spatula need to be flower shaped? It looked like a flyswatter and was made of _rubber_. A rubber spatula was an accident waiting to happen. 

But even with the rampant fire hazards, the kitchen was quieter than the living room, and Norma had shut the door so Joey the polar bear couldn't come in and get underfoot, so Spot figured he might as well stay.

"Love, would you cut those apples for me?" 

Norma pointed with a slotted spoon designed to look like swiss cheese at a cutting board shaped like Missouri.

"Knives are in the drawer under the elepot."

She laughed, as if an elephant shaped teapot were the funniest thing in the world, and Spot found himself smiling a little bit. 

And then he stopped smiling, because he fucking impaled himself on… something in the drawer. 

"Fuck," he muttered before he could stop himself. 

"Language!" Norma swatted playfully at Spot with the spatula, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. That was all too familiar, and every part of him screamed to curl up, to hide and shield and get away before anything else might happen. 

Blood trickled down his hand and onto the floor, some landing on his foot. That was going to stain the sock, probably. Spot thought of the probable stain instead of the way Norma was looking at him, with so much pity and worry. 

He swallowed hard. 

"D'you have a towel I can use?" 

Norma passed over a clean rag, a red spotted one, so the stain wouldn't even matter. 

Spot swallowed again, but the lump in his throat stayed. He let Norma bandage his hand, and she used the good kind of band aids. The fabric-y kind that stretched and didn't make his skin get all sensitive and sore. 

That was nice. Took about six band aids to fix up a tiny cut on his fingertip, just because any less and they'd fall off. Spot focused on the band aids and avoiding eye contact. He didn't want to see the inevitable question that would no doubt be there. 

"Sean, sweetie?" A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and Spot realized that Bryan must have inherited his mother's hands. 

"I'm so glad you're our family now. We've got more than enough love to go around."

Spot nodded, still looking at his hand. 

"Thanks."

Norma pulled him into a gentle hug, which Spot tentatively returned. She smelled like butter, probably because of the apron. 

"Hey, Mom, do you have any of that ginger tea? I'm nauseous beyond belief, and- oh!" 

Spot shuffled closer to the counter and started cutting up the apples like he was supposed to. Angela was staring at him, he was sure. 

"Hi, Sean." She sounded almost shy, which was weird. Wasn't like this was an entirely new situation for Angela. She knew the house and everyone in it; Spot should be the one who was nervous. He wasn't, of course. 

Norma made Angela some tea from the water she'd already been boiling. 

"I'd better head out before I barf," Angela said awkwardly. 

"Sean, if your future wife ever gets pregnant, keep morning sickness in mind. Even at seven PM, apparently."

Spot nodded noncommittally, not feeling like explaining that he would never have a wife, thanks but no thanks. 

He cut some more apples, because that was easier to do than talk to people. Angela ducked out of the room, and all was quiet. Spot breathed in the pleasantly warm smell of the kitchen, food cooking away in the oven and on the stove. 

"You know your way around a knife," Norma commented, taking in Spot's chopping. 

"My boyfriend's grandma showed me." Thank the stars for Nonna. Nonna and Norma. That was weird to think about. 

"Boyfriend?"

Spot tensed. "Yes?" He focused on the apples and not losing a finger to the shaking of his hands. 

"What's this boyfriend's name?" Norma sounded casual, and Spot reminded himself that she probably knew about David and Jack, and didn't care about that, so this was fine. 

"Anthony. He's in band." 

That was a normal way to converse, right? Spot didn't know how to talk to people anymore. Everything was so much more complicated when you wanted them to _like_ you. 

“That’s right, you’re all in band.” Norma gestured to the refrigerator. 

“I’ve got that picture Bryan sent us.”

Spot looked over in surprise. He’d never get used to seeing pictures of himself just… there, on people’s walls, desks, refrigerators. Bryan’s wall and desk and refrigerator mainly, but apparently here too. 

Spot, Sarah, and David all in the stupid band uniforms, and Les dangling from Sarah’s neck like a monkey. It was a nice picture, even though Spot didn’t remember it being taken, and none of them were looking anywhere near the camera. 

“He sent you that?”

Why was Spot surprised to hear that news? It made sense for Bryan to send it, right? But why back then, months ago? Why _before_ he’d wanted to adopt Spot? 

This was all so weird, and everything had moved so fast. Spot felt dizzy and tired all of a sudden. 

“Honey, why don’t you go sit back down with your dad?” Norma looked at him with concern. “You look ready to fall over.” 

Spot nodded, setting down the knife. He felt ready to fall over too.

The living room had cleared out a bit, mostly from Les and Cousin Whatshisname having left to go cause havoc with the dog outside. 

Relieved to see that there was no longer an enormous sentient area rug wandering the room, Spot curled back up next to Bryan’s warmth. 

He was so sleepy all of a sudden. The room was warm and calm, with Bob turning on some music and then going to help Norma in the kitchen. Everyone else was talking about something, but Spot wasn’t listening enough to know what exactly. 

He didn’t need to know. This was just… nice.


	39. He deserves to be happy, even if he wont admit it, the dumbass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, mans. im sad and lonely and i needed some fluff with a touch of angst, so here it is. 
> 
> Spot is jus... so lidle. pick him up like bunie rabet. he so smol. so babey. liddol smol babey boy. pet his head.

Spot curled into Bryan's side. Over the years, he'd developed quite the talent for pretending to be asleep. Even Bryan fell for it, so Spot didn't have to actually head to bed yet. 

This meant listening in on conversations, of course, though Spot _was_ pretty sleepy, so he wasn't really paying attention anyway. Wasn't eavesdropping if your mind was so foggy you couldn't listen in the first place. Spot tuned back in to radio station Whatever Everyone Was Talking About to hear Norma come wandering back into the room after checking to make sure "all the kids" were in bed. Not including Spot, of course, because he was clearly asleep. 

"Oh, would you just look at that," Norma tittered. "Looks like someone's all tuckered out." 

Spot resented that tone, thank you very much. It implied he was being _cute._ Spot wasn't cute. He was pretending to sleep for eavesdropping purposes, not because Bryan's lap was too comfy of a pillow to be bothered moving away from it. 

"Dramamine," Bryan replied, running his fingers through Spot's hair. Another reason that had nothing to do with Spot staying put. He didn't care that the touch felt nice, even though it did. 

"He gets carsick. Loaded him up on the stuff for the drive over. Sometimes it takes a little longer to kick in than I’d like." 

Spot shifted just slightly. That was the secret to a good fake-sleep. When someone’s _really_ asleep, they don’t stay completely still. Mix in a little moving, maybe change up your breathing just a tiny bit, and people usually assumed Spot was fast asleep. Sometimes that was the only way for him to find anything out. 

"That and the busiest few months I think could ever be possible."

Bryan laughed, but it was strained. Spot felt a stab of guilt directly into his stomach. All of the stress had been because of him, and Bryan deserved better. He could find someone better, easier, who wouldn't cause so many problems.

"It's no wonder he's so tired all the time," Bryan sighed. "Poor thing hasn't been able to rest and recover for more than a few days before the next round of crazy happens." 

Spot wasn't a _poor thing_ , but he liked the feeling of Bryan's petting in his hair, so he didn't react. The things he’d put up with for comfort. 

“How’s our Les been handling it all?” 

Bob’s question just brought forth a tired sigh, which just confirmed Spot's suspicions that he should hate himself. 

“He’s… fine. I know he wants more attention than I’ve been giving lately. Hopefully that can get better, now that things are quieting down, you know?”

Fuck, that was Spot’s fault too. He took up too much time, and it was fucking with Les. He hadn’t even _noticed._ What kind of brother did that? A shitty one, that’s what kind. 

_Fuck’s sake, get over yourself,_ Spot told himself. _Show up and ruin their whole family in four months. Who do you think you are?_

“David and Sarah, they understand,” Bryan went on. “Any time we’ve had a new foster come in, they always get more attention. They need it, you know? Just this time, it’s going to be permanent.”

The man combed at Spot’s hair with his hands some more. 

“You always did say you wanted “a hundred million kids,” didn’t you, Bryan?” Norma teased. Spot was somewhat aware of her leaning over him to give her son an awkward, tangled, try-not-to-wake-up-the-kid kind of hug.

“I think four’s about right.” 

Well. Spot sure was lucky to be there at just the right time to be number four, then. He kind of wished he could see Bryan’s face right now, just to figure out what the man was feeling. 

“Why him?” 

Roy’s question surprised Spot, and hurt more than a little. It was a question Spot asked himself all the time. _Why?_ Why keep the annoying, difficult, frustrating problem around? Why someone who was half medical problems, half bad attitude? Why Spot?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bryan was quick to jump to his defense, apparently. Or maybe his own defense, to keep from looking like “That Idiot” who just adopted whatever kid nobody else wanted. 

“No, no, not like that,” Roy scrambled to backtrack. 

“I just mean, like, how did you know? Out of all the other kids you’ve taken in. What clicked?”

Bryan was silent for a moment, thinking. He did that a lot, Spot noticed. Always thinking about something or another. 

“I think,” Bryan began slowly. “I think it was meant to be.” 

Roy barked a laugh. “Really? I never thought you were a superstitious guy, Bryan. You think it’s all, destiny and fate mumbo-jumbo?”

Spot had that exact same question, if he was being completely honest with himself. 

“Look at him,” Angela said from her spot on the floor. That seemed like an exceptionally bad seating arrangement. Was she even going to be able to get up, with her enormous watermelon of a belly?

“Sleeping like a baby. You think that’s not absolutely perfect?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Roy admitted. Spot did not know if he agreed or not. Maybe it was fate, but then why had this all taken so long? Why did everything have to suck for so many years before what was “meant to be” finally happened? Thinking about it made his stomach cramp up, like he’d just eaten a bowl of popcorn or something. Stupid fucking popcorn. Spot hated popcorn. Actually, he hated how popcorn made his stomach feel. That was the basis for all of his food opinions; Does It Hurt?

He squirmed a little bit, pretending to just start waking up. 

“Hey, buddy,” Bryan said softly, almost laughing. 

Blink slowly, look confused, don’t pay attention to anything. He headbutted Bryan’s chest as an extra touch. 

“Oof. Ready to get to bed?”

Spot nodded, fully aware that everyone was probably watching and thinking he was cute, but also aware that reacting to this would ruin the ruse that he’d just woken up. 

Sacrifices had to be made in the name of eavesdropping. 

“Santa’s coming, yeah?” 

Spot snorted, muttering his opinions on that idea. 

“Fuckin’ pervert, in the fucking house. Weirdo. Gross-ass beard. Fuck.”

Roy laughed loudly, and Spot twitched, as if the noise surprised him. He was pretending, of course. It hadn’t _actually_ surprised him. 

“Yes, very weird,” Bryan agreed, rubbing Spot’s back. “Let’s go to bed.”

Spot felt himself half-lifted, then completely lifted like a baby as Bryan stood.

“‘Night Mom, Dad, Angie, Roy.” 

“Night, Bryan. Night, Sean.” 

Someone patted his shoulder, probably Bob, just based on locations. Spot felt like more than a little bit of an idiot being carried, but he’d look even stupider squirming to be put down. Better to just let it be. Besides, Bryan was warm, and who really cared?


	40. Merry Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absolute unit of a chapter. Lorge. Such angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are able, please consider donating to kids in need this holiday season. Nobody deserves to feel like they arent loved, especially not kids.  
> A quick Google search can help you find somewhere in your area where you can send gifts, or even check out an Amazon Wishlist to ship toys, clothes, books, and more directly to a charity or child in need, without even leaving your home.

Spot woke up to someone shaking his arm, gently, but still annoying. 

"Mmph," he grumbled wordlessly, covering his head with his blanket. Everything hurt from sleeping on the floor, especially his legs. They always fucking hurt, and he was going to bitch about it. The shaking grew more intense now, with urging squeaks from a familiar voice. 

"Come on, Spot, wake _up_!"

Spot sighed and uncurled himself. "Why? Please, leave me to die in peace." 

Les and Danny, who was apparently now his cousin, laughed hysterically at the idea of leaving Spot alone. 

"David and Sarah are up already," Les explained, as if that made a difference to Spot. 

"Come on, dad said to get you up for breakfast."

Spot groaned, but struggled to his feet. He didn't fucking _want_ breakfast, _Dad_. 

Dad, however, wanted him to eat breakfast, as usual. 

“Want some eggs, Sean?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Spot grumbled. Bryan ruffled his hair. “Okay, grouch. Eat something.”

Spot sat down at the table. He had no intention of eating, thank you very much, but sitting sounded like a good idea right about now. He rubbed at his sore knee, which did absolutely nothing, but Spot still felt like he should do it. 

“Hurts?” Bryan sat down next to Spot and slid him a Jell-O cup. Fucker knew exactly what foods would tempt Spot enough to actually eat them. Spot nodded, staring intently at his breakfast as he ate. 

Bryan got up and went to his bag, slung casually over the back of a chair as if he lived here or something. He had, technically, lived here for most of his childhood, to be fair. Spot wondered what that must be like, to come back to the home you spent all the early years of your life, and still be able to just set things conveniently around the kitchen. 

Who lived in Spot’s old house now? And which one would be considered his “childhood home?” He’d spent only four years with his parents, and that wasn’t all at the same house. A few months of really awful, scary, confusing placements that Jonathan was still mad about, because “why accept a placement and then just change your damn mind?” 

People accepted because they didn’t know what Spot was like. They always figured a four year old wouldn’t cause too much trouble.  
Bryan handed him a pill and a cup of juice. Spot didn’t argue this time. Everything hurt too much for that. 

Maybe the Hilgers would be his “childhood home.” That was about where Spot figured most of his alleged Formative Years had happened. Skittery, Boots, and a bunch of people who never really went after him much. That was probably _because_ of Skittery, Spot thought, nursing the juice to make Bryan happy. 

Or did this count as his childhood home? Not _this_ right here; this was his… grandparents house, which was still weird to think about. 

But _home_ home. The one he’d gone and- no, Spot wasn’t going to think about that right now. He stretched his legs a little, probably a bad idea if the stabbing pain was any evidence. 

He winced, but Bryan was distracted by Les and Danny, so Spot didn’t have to deal with any hovering this time. 

“When is Grandma and Grandpa going to be up?” Les asked, stealing a handful of blueberries. “My mom’s already up, and it takes her _ages_ to shower,” Danny agreed. 

“She’s _huge!”_ Les’ enthusiasm was greeted by gentle scolding from both Bryan and Roy, but nobody really seemed to mind, least of all Les. 

“Don’t call your aunt huge.” Bryan mussed up Les’ already messy hair. 

“She’s _expecting.”_

“Expecting what? An Elephant?” Danny shrieked in laughter. Spot rolled his eyes and continued eating his Jell-O.

* * *

Soon enough, everyone _was_ awake, and Spot found himself being herded into the living room where the tree was set up. Nerves boiled up in his stomach. This was foreign. This was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to _be_ here. Bryan rested a hand on his shoulder, guiding Spot over to the couch. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You can sit here, alright?” The man’s worried eyes searched Spot’s face. 

“I’ve got you.” 

Spot nodded, curling his knees to his chest. He could just watch from here, keep from being underfoot. 

It was a weird mixture of calm and chaos, with everyone chattering and exchanging gifts, and Norma had turned on some folk-type Christmas music. 

This was nice. Spot wasn’t used to being included, really. Certainly not included in something so family-focused. 

He’d never been wanted around for anything that wasn’t a weird, stiff, “Stick A Group Of Kids In Someone’s Basement For 3 Hours” kind of Christmas celebration. 

"Spot, open this," Les said, sounding significantly younger than nine. Maybe Christmas just made everybody stupid. Whatever the reason, it pulled Spot out of his thoughts, and that was good enough for him. 

"It's from Grandma and Grandpa," Les explained. 

Spot looked up for confirmation, and Norma nodded encouragingly. 

"Open it. I saw it at the store and just had to buy it for you."

Spot tried to avoid tearing the paper. That just felt wasteful, and- "Spot, you're doing it wrong," Danny interrupted. 

"You're supposed to rip it." 

Spot jolted in surprise. Danny, for some reason, was the only one here who wasn't painfully awkward around him, so Spot decided to do what the kid wanted. He ripped the paper, wincing at the noise, which would undoubtedly draw attention to him. 

It was a small stuffed cat, orange and white and black, like Jenny. Spot smiled, petting at the "fur."

It was heavier than he'd expected, he realized, hefting it with one hand. Full of something weird, from the feel of it. 

"Bryan said you like things to keep warm," Bob explained. "You can microwave it, and it's good for sore muscles and things."

He smiled almost ruefully. 

"I use one like it for my creaky old joints."

"Bryan's sent us pictures of you and your cat, and I thought it looked just like her," Norma said, sounding almost nervous.

"Thanks, it's …I like it," Spot whispered, and he meant it. As stupid as "I like it" sounded, that was all he could think to say. This was all too much. 

Bob handed him another wrapped thing, and Spot twitched in surprise. The cat wasn't enough for these people?

He opened this second thing, trying very hard not to pay attention to just how uncomfortable he was being watched. At least it was just Norma and Bob watching, and Bryan pretending like he wasn't. Probably thinking Spot might do something to fuck everything up. 

Spot pulled out a few pairs of socks, nice socks, the good kind that would actually keep his feet warm. 

He ran a hand along the sides of them. "Thanks," he managed to choke out. They were really nice socks. Thick, soft. Good. 

Why had they done that? They didn't know him. They didn't have to do anything. And these were actually _nice_. People didn't give Spot nice things. They bought cheap socks in bulk, sent them to some charity, and the charity would give everyone socks. They'd wear out fast, probably, but at least he'd have socks. 

These weren't those kinds of socks, and for some reason Spot felt kind of nauseous over it. 

"You didn't have to-" he tried to say, but was interrupted by a lump in his throat.

Spot was four and it was Christmas and he was cold, but that was normal, right? Maybe Daddy forgot to pay the electric bill or something. That didn't matter when you were four. You were just cold. 

Mama gave Spot some matchbox cars, and he sat under the table playing with them while the adults celebrated. Smoke and alcohol and pills were everywhere. Chubby hands pushed little toy cars through a layer of grime, leaving tire tracks along the floor. 

Someone dropped a bottle, and glass cut his bare feet. 

"I don't-" he choked again, trying to thank Bob and Norma. Grandma and Grandpa. Bryan's parents. Bryan had parents and they'd always wanted him. 

Spot was nine and it was Christmas and he was alone. All of the foster kids the family had were locked away upstairs so they wouldn't interrupt the family spending time together. 

He could hear Skittery moving around the next room over, and he wanted to go in, to not be alone. They'd get mad, though. Somebody would hit him, or maybe they'd hit Skittery. They did that a lot, punishing Skittery for what Spot did. 

At some point, someone gave him some food up there. A piece of toast and some granola. Spot was hungry, so he ate it. His stomach hurt, but if he threw up in here, he knew he'd be punished.

Bryan put his arms around Spot's shoulders, and he realized he was crying. 

Spot was twelve and it was Christmas and he was cold again. He told his foster father to fuck off and was given a slap across the face before being shoved outside and told to stay there. It it's snowing and he didn't have shoes on. Merry Christmas, Spot. At least there was no broken glass this time. 

"Honey, I've got you," Bryan soothed, and Spot was fourteen, and it was Christmas, and someone was holding him tight. He was warm. He wasn't alone. He wasn't scared or hurt or hungry anymore. 

Spot held the socks tight in one fist. 

"Dad, I-" Spot gasped, crying hard. 

"I can't-" 

"Shh," Bryan rubbed his back. 

"I know. I know. C'mere." 

Spot curled into Bryan's lap, still crying and shaking and wanting so _badly_ to be held. "Don't let go," he said, somewhere between begging and whispering and crying, all mixed into one. Absolutely everyone was probably looking at them. God, Spot looked stupid. Crying over a pair of fucking socks, like nobody had ever given him socks before. He'd been given socks. Never good socks. Never socks that meant the gifter wanted him around. 

Spot wasn't an afterthought anymore. He wasn't a nuisance and he wasn't pushed away, so why had everyone before now hated him so much? 

Spot cried because he didn't want to be alone, and he cried for the little version of himself trying to clean glass out of his feet, and he cried for the hungry kid lying in bed, too scared to go sit with Skittery because what if _they_ heard him moving? He cried for those few years that hadn't been so bad, nobody hit him and he was fed, but they still hurt because none of those people who seemed to care so much wanted him. 

"Shh, It's okay," Bryan kept talking, kept rubbing up and down his back. Spot was too big to sit like this. It was dumb and he was dumb but Bryan didn't care. 

Bryan just held him, and Spot was warm and he wasn't alone anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been doing research on foster care in my area, because once I'm a real adult I plan to adopt kids, and I saw an article about how to help foster kids.   
> One suggestion was to get approved as basically a babysitter so "foster parents can take a break and spend time with their families".   
> I've not been this angry in a long time.   
> If you choose to foster, those kids are your family for as long as they are in your care. Sure, it's fine to need a short break, same as ANY parent would with ANY child.   
> But holy FUCK, what kind of person tells a kid "we're sending you to a stranger's house for the weekend so we can spend more time with our "real kids"?"  
> Don't! Do! That!  
> If you arent prepared to love that child completely, fully, and with absolutely everything you have, then don't have a child, period.


	41. Cards and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write something that wouldn't be sad at all, but it didn't work.  
> Chapter for whoever it was that asked about Sarah in the comments. I can't remember the username and Im too lazy to check, but this is dedicated to u. <3

Spot getting utterly overwhelmed by basic human kindness wasn’t exactly what Sarah had expected on Christmas day, but then again, their family holidays were always a little bit odd. What would you expect, when half the family was Jewish but non-practicing, but also Bryan wanted to make sure they had the option to explore that if they chose it, but also they pretty consistently had other fosters staying over the winter holidays, usually kids who _did_ celebrate Christmas, so they couldn’t just skip it. All in all, things did tend to be a little confusing from an outsider’s perspective, but Sarah was just fine with that. 

From an outsider’s perspective, it was apparently confusing that she played the tuba, so Sarah Jacobs did not care what outsiders found confusing. She'd be confusing if she damned well _pleased,_ thank you very much. 

She did, however, care about making sure Spot didn’t feel like an outsider. 

Thus why, after a day like today, which her brother was clearly embarrassed about, she was determined to make a distraction that would also drag him back into family activity. 

Sarah settled Danny and Les in the basement to “go to bed,” meaning “put on a movie and stay up chattering until everyone else went to bed.” She also grabbed a deck of cards on the way up, the deck that was older than her and David, yet, by some miracle, still had all the cards. Probably because of Grandma’s method of storing everything in something else, this time a tin that had once held mints. 

She chucked them at David’s head, of course. 

“Hey!” he yelped, barely catching the little candy tin in time. 

“Trying to kill me?”

Spot snorted a laugh from his little lump curled up on the couch. He’d been wrapped up in his blanket since dinner, completely uninterested in moving, which also meant that Bryan couldn’t move, seeing as _somebody_ was sitting on him. 

“We’re playing cards?” Grandpa was on his feet remarkably quick for a man who had been nearly asleep just a few moments ago. 

“Count me in.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Sarah to have managed to gather everyone around the kitchen table, temporarily lengthened with an extra segment to accommodate all the extra guests for Christmas. Spot had actually agreed with minimal whining. Maybe that came from Racetrack. Had they played cards together? Poker seemed like Racetrack’s idea of a fun date, but Aunt Angela didn’t like poker, so that wasn’t even relevant.

“You’re lying,” Spot decided, squinting intently at Bryan. He looked surprised at the accusation. “Lying? About what?”

“Bluffing,” Grandpa corrected, as if this was poker and not BS, Baloney, Bullshit, whatever you chose to call the game. It wasn’t poker, that was for sure. Spot rolled his eyes. “Whatever. He’s doing that.” Spot sounded remarkably confident for someone who didn’t know any of the rules to BS only twenty minutes ago. 

“You’re very certain of that?”

Spot nodded. Bryan half smiled, half scowled, and took all the cards from the center. “How you tell, I have no idea. I always thought I was a good liar.”

Grandma burst out laughing. 

“Bryan, you’re an _awful_ liar.” 

That was true. Bryan was about as good at lying as David was, meaning absolutely terrible. 

“You move your face funny,” Spot noted, getting distracted by his phone. “And talk louder.” 

Bryan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

“So if I wear a paper bag over my head, and only ever communicate in sign language, you’ll never know.”

Spot scoffed. “You’d do something else. Everybody does. How do you think I...” He shuffled his cards awkwardly. “Nevermind.”

Sarah couldn’t help but worry about him. She worried, and she was angry. It wasn’t fair that Spot had to notice everything. He should have been safe without that, but instead, reading people was a survival tactic. Her little brother felt like he had to live life on edge, and Sarah hated it. 

“Bryan, I’m your mother,” Grandma Norma said, taking the attention off Spot like the hero she was. “I’d always be able to tell.”

* * *

The dog was under the table, and Spot didn’t particularly like that. It was asleep for now, but still. Probably it wouldn’t stay that way. 

Spot didn’t want to look like any more of a pathetic mess today than he already did, after the whole mental breakdown over a pair of fucking _socks_. Luckily, nobody had brought it up, though Bryan let him act like a clingy idiot all day. Poor, fragile Spot. Everybody had to walk on eggshells around him, just in case he snapped again.

Still, they’d all been… nice. Everyone here treated Spot like he was one of the family already, enough that Spot was almost ready to believe this would stick. He wanted to believe it, but that would hurt too much if something changed. 

He’d kind of had this kind of thing before. Nice family, everyone seemed to want him, but they’d bail at the last second. 

Bryan wouldn’t do that, Spot was sure. Bryan had held on through way too much for that. The voice in the back of Spot’s mind continued whispering. 

_How do you know that? How do you know what he will or won’t do? It’s been three months. You don’t know anything yet._

The worst part was that Spot knew the voice was right. No matter how long the past few months had felt, this had hardly been enough to consider a long-term placement. Spot tried to remind himself of all the differences between long-term foster care and foster-to-adopt, but his stupid brain didn’t care. 

Spot focused on his cards as a distraction. The only person he couldn’t read was Bob. The man had pasted on a very blank expression, the kind of face Racetrack’s grandma had when they’d all played poker with Gabby. Mrs. Higgins wasn’t entirely happy having her youngest taught to gamble, that was for sure. 

Bryan was a very bad liar, and he said Spot was going to be adopted. If he were lying, Spot would know right away. 

That thought and that thought alone kept Spot from giving in to the horrible part of his mind that kept insisting nobody would ever want to keep him. 

Keep him. Like he was a movie or a shirt or something. Spot wasn’t a person, really. He didn’t count. Not like that. 

But to Bryan and David, Sarah, Les, and all these new family members? To them, maybe Spot could be worth something. 

Maybe.


	42. skewl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't remember how school works.  
> covid has stolen everything from meeeeeeeeeee.

  
Winter break had been nice, but David was ready to get back to school. He missed seeing his friends, specifically Jack, and he missed having something productive to do. Even Spot, who could find something to complain about no matter what, seemed almost happy for school to start. It would be nice to get back to normal, after everything being absolutely crazy for nearly the entire winter break. 

David pulled slowly into the school parking lot and gathered his things. Spot, because he didn't have an instrument, was out of the car immediately, ready to go inside and "out of the fucking freezing cold garbage."

Sarah wrestled her tuba out of the trunk, laughing as Spot slipped and nearly fell in the snow. He turned around and flipped her off, only prompting more laughter. David beeped the horn of the car once to make it very clear that he _did not approve of that gesture, Spot_. 

Spot, of course, completely ignored him. David rolled his eyes and locked the car door. He wasn’t about to let Spot’s early-morning grouchiness ruin his day. 

* * *

"How are you the most frustrating person on the planet, and why do I still love you?" 

David's grumbling was met by more jingling from Jack's New Years cowboy hat. A silver and gold thing with streamers and sparkles, and absolutely covered in bells. 

David liked to insist he despised the thing. 

"That's against dress code, I'm almost completely sure."

Jack shook his head with a jingle and a jangle. 

"They take my hat, I'll refuse to do work. I'll get everyone on my side and we'll all ring bells instead of doing school."

"You mean like a strike?" David snorted at the idea, while also knowing full well that the majority of the school absolutely would side with Jack if he asked. 

"I'll form a union," Jack declared, pushing his hat back like a brooding cowboy in a cheesy western. 

"Have fun with that." David moved closer to grab Jack's hand as they walked. 

Jack's jingling and general noisiness drew a little more attention than David would have normally liked, but all in all, the other students were too distracted by meeting up with friends and comparing class schedules to care about Kelly’s Annual New Years insanity. 

He looked down at his schedule, printed out that morning, for what was probably the thirty seventh time. Seven classes, mostly the same as last semester, just a few in different periods with different teachers. 

Aside from band, David had one class with Jack, that being chemistry. 

“If you set the lab on fire again, I’m going to get a new lab partner,” David decided as they sat down in their assigned seats. Kelly always seemed to be right next to Jacobs-Denton, luckily. “That was one time,” Jack insisted, flicking the battery-powered stars into OFF position so as to be “Less Distracting,” because that was possible with a hat covered in bells. 

“And it’s not my fault Mr. Byers gave me a test tube clamp made of rubber and said to stick it in a bunsen burner.”

David opened his mouth to say that it _was_ Jack’s fault he’d listened without questioning it, but was interrupted by the teacher arriving. He settled back into his seat, ready for a day that would probably be the specific mixture of boring and exhausting unique to the first day of every semester. 

* * *

Spot flicked pencil shavings off the desk and wondered why, exactly, a public speech class would be required for freshmen. He didn’t plan to run for president, thank you very much, so who cared if he knew how to talk in front of a crowd? 

At least Principles of Public Speaking 101 was technically an english class, so he _did_ get out of literary analysis for a semester. He was also assigned the seat next to Bumlets, who Spot sort of knew, but not really. Basically they knew each other well enough for it to be awkward, but Spot decided he wasn’t going to care about that. School somehow managed to turn off any emotion he could potentially feel for approximately 8 hours straight. 

Only this class, and then elective, and Spot could go home for the day. The open elective spot was the problem with joining the marching band without playing an instrument. They didn’t use sound equipment second semester, so Spot was basically shoved into the elective they wanted more students in, meaning an art class. Spot wasn’t particularly artistic, but he could probably pass. 

He also wasn’t particularly interested in public speaking, but now he’d be doing that, apparently. 

The teacher, a well-dressed, stuffy looking man who Spot was sure he would grow to hate, walked in at the exact moment the bell rang. 

He immediately tuned out the man’s introduction, except for the part where he called himself Dr. Pine, which meant he probably went and got a fucking _doctorate_ in english. Spot, who had read and enjoyed about four books ever, was not impressed. 

He also wasn’t impressed when the man read off attendance and, obviously, called him Sean Conlon. No, Spot wasn’t hurt that Bryan hadn’t asked to change his last name in all the school paperwork. 

Why would that hurt? He didn’t care. It was fine, and they could change it once the adoption was finalized.

Spot wasn’t hurt, he told himself, scribbling idly on the “Get to Know You” sheet that he had no intention of filling out. 

Only a few more weeks, anyway, and he’d be officially Conlon-Denton. That _was_ what everyone wanted. Right?


	43. New year new problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, cause I got a question for yall and I cant really write more until I decide on this.  
> Do I make this fic be like 2020 realistic, including the rona virus, or do I pretend it's some alternate universe where everything doesn't go absolutely bonkers in march? 
> 
> I do lean towards Corona just because I genuinely am forgetting how pre-covid social interactions work and I would like to not have to worry about it, but I would like to know what y'all think.

The best possible way to come home, Spot decided, was to be obnoxious to David in the car, make Les laugh hysterically, and then be greeted by a cat the second you walked in the door. It helped that he was _finally_ coming home to _their_ house, the real, actual, still slightly smokey house. 

Bryan was right, Spot thought, scooping Jenny into his arms. Everything had turned out fine. The house was fixed, and apparently had just _looked_ bad. The fire department caught it in time to stop any real damage. 

Jenny purred and rubbed at his neck, making holding her very difficult. 

“How was school?”

Spot kicked off his shoes and lined them up beside the stairs. 

“Shit, obviously.” 

Bryan ruffled his hair. 

“Language. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Spot snorted, shoving Bryan’s hand away from his head. Jenny mrrp-ed indignantly at the lack of support her tubby little body was now receiving. Spot shifted to hold her better, like a baby, and was rewarded with purring and nuzzling into his chest. 

“How was teaching college students how to think?” 

Bryan hung up Les’ coat, which had immediately fallen on the floor, like usual. Les apparently did not understand how coat hangers worked. 

“Not shit.” 

Spot squawked. “You can say it, but I can’t?” 

Injustices, injustices everywhere. 

Jenny pawed at his chin as if to say _shut up and pet me, fool._

Bryan laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “I can be obnoxious if I want to.”

Spot thought about that for a second. He’d never met an obnoxious adult. He’d met cruel, inconsiderate, stiff, fake, and a few kind, gentle, smart ones. Never obnoxious. Obnoxious was strictly child-and-teenager territory. 

“Hypocritical,” he decided, flopping backwards onto the couch. “That’s what you are.”

“Sure,” Bryan called on his way into the kitchen. “Whatever you say, kiddo.” 

Spot scowled but stayed where he was, petting behind Jenny’s soft ears. She purred in contentment, a nice, sturdy, warm little thing on his chest and stomach. 

Spot was so lucky. So lucky that nobody was hurt by him being an idiot. Not even the cats. Even creaky old Gus had wandered on into the house the day after they’d moved back in, hopped on the counter and demanded attention from Bryan, business as usual. 

Everything was fine, but Spot didn’t want to depend on luck anymore.

He hadn’t caused any trouble in school, though to be fair, it had only been a few days. That was something, right?

* * *

Bryan had a decision to make. 

Technically speaking, he was now in a relationship, and that was complicated for several reasons. 

Reasons 1-4 were named Sarah, David, Sean, and Les, and frankly, he was most worried about Sean and David. David didn't like changes to his routine, nor did he like strangers, and Sean… Bryan didn’t know how Sean would feel about Hannah. 

He never did know exactly how that boy would react to things, either good or bad. 

It was best to be cautious, start things slowly, and make sure every interaction the two had was completely and totally positive for Sean. 

That was going to take some planning. 

Sean himself was in a better mood than Bryan had seen in awhile, largely from simply being home. He'd been understandably on edge at the rental house, what with everything being different and unfamiliar, an all too common situation from the boy's past. 

"Mr. Pine is _useless,"_ Sean whined to nobody in particular. 

"Dr. Pine," David corrected without looking up from his Trigonometry. 

"English doctorates don't _count_ ," Sean snipped, scribbling aimlessly on his worksheet. 

"I don't care about public speaking." 

"What if you became a teacher?"

Sean scowled in response to David's question. 

"I one hundred percent would rather be found cold and dead in a drainage ditch." 

Bryan laughed and ruffled both boy's hair. A hiss from Sean, and a tiny smile from David. 

Bryan sat down at the table next to them. 

"Boys, there's something I'd like to tell you both."


	44. Cry, bitches (affectionate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angststs  
> That reminds me, why is being a vsco girl supposedly bad? What's wrong with wanting scrunchies to pull your hair back and caring about the environment?  
> I'm not sure what vsco actually *is*, but what I know about the girls of this site/app/whatever it is, I support them! You go, vsco girls!
> 
> \- This has been 3 AM thoughts with A Clown. Salva las tortugas, as my spanish teacher one time said.

Spot’s head swirled with thoughts like the drain in a sink. Swirling and draining away, but the tap was still on full blast, so all the thoughts just kept coming back. 

He didn't know what to think about all these thoughts, so he thought about no thoughts, which led to thinking about thoughts, of course. 

It was cold. That was about all Spot could concretely think right about now. Logically, he knew he could grab a blanket, or go microwave his rice-cat thingy, but moving sounded impossible. 

Instead, Spot lay in bed, having ducked out of the conversation downstairs as quickly as possible. 

The main thought that kept floating to the top was that Daddy had only ever _really_ hit him because of something to do with Mama, which in turn made him wonder why he still thought of Aiden Conlon as _Daddy_ when he now had Bryan, who was a much better dad than Aiden had ever been. 

Bryan hadn’t ever hurt Spot before, but maybe a girlfriend would change that. David seemed nervous, which only served as a reminder of just how little Spot actually knew. He had a few months where David had ten years. If David was scared, there was probably a good reason.

Still…

There was a very notable difference between Aiden Conlon and Bryan Denton. Bryan did not hit, or let the kids go hungry, or shake Spot until he saw stars. He was gentle, he was kind, he hugged and laughed and made Spot take his medication every day. He wouldn’t suddenly undergo a complete personality change just because of some woman.

Right? 

“Sean?”

Bryan’s voice made Spot jump, which he resented. He wasn't quite sure where the resentment was directed, but he knew he felt it. 

“Kiddo, are you alright?" 

Spot nodded, trying to figure out why Bryan was asking that when he hadn't actually stormed off this time. Spot was getting much better at finishing conversations before walking away. Lisa would be proud, if he actually went to talk to her now. 

He kind of wondered what she'd say about Bryan having a girlfriend now. 

"I know, that was kind of unexpected.” Bryan sat on the bed beside him, hands folded in his lap. 

“Maybe I should have waited to tell you all.” 

Spot shook his head. How would waiting have made anything better? And what was he supposed to think, anyway? He wasn't _upset_ , exactly. But it definitely wasn't what Spot would describe as good news. 

After fixing up the actually damaged parts of the house, they'd painted over the small burn marks in his wall, so it was smooth and clean looking. Spot looked at the plain surface intently. 

“Is she nice?” 

He hadn’t really meant to ask that so timidly, but now it was out there, and Spot looked like a fucking child once again. 

Bryan squeezed his arm gently. 

"I think she is. I think she's very nice." 

_Very nice._

But just because she was nice didn't mean she'd like Spot. Lots of nice people didn't like him. Most of them, in fact. 

"Hey." 

Bryan traced the back of his hand across Spot's cheek. 

"Look at me." 

Spot curled up on his side, head resting on one arm. He looked at the space between Bryan's eyes. 

"Kiddo, it's going to be fine. I promise." 

_But how do you know?_

"People don't like me," Spot said, not like he was complaining or asking or anything else. It was just a statement of fact. People did not like him. They never had, really. 

Bryan looked...something. Spot wasn't sure what that expression meant, exactly. 

"Oh, Sean…" 

But Bryan didn't really argue. He just squeezed Spot's hand gently, and gave him that sad, pitying smile that Spot was so familiar with. 

"I think she _will_ like you, but it doesn't matter. Sean, you kids will always come first. Always."

Spot finally managed to look directly into Bryan's eyes, and he saw no lie. 

"If that means this whole…" Bryan waved one hand vaguely. "Thing with Hannah ends, then that's what happens. I'm not _that_ invested already." He cracked a little smile. 

"It's not been nearly long enough for that." 

It also hadn't been particularly long since Spot had gotten involved in this family, either, so why should Bryan invest so much time and energy in him?

He wanted to ask, he wanted to more than anything else, but the words wouldn't come. 

"Do you think they love me?" The words were out before Spot even realized he was thinking them. 

"What?"

Well, no going back now. 

"My… parents. Do they?"

Bryan's mouth formed a tight line, clearly thinking. Spot hated that "do my parents love me" was a question that required deep thought. What kind of garbage was he, that the answer wasn't an immediate "yes"?

"I think," he started slowly. "They love you as much as they can. As much as they know how to love." Bryan traced his knuckles along Spot's cheekbone, and Spot leaned in to the touch. 

His mom was supposed to love him. That's what everyone said, right? That moms were the ones to love you always, more than anything else in the world, no matter what. How fucked up had Spot been, that even as a little baby, his own mother hadn't been able to love him? 

"I know it's not a good answer, Sean." Bryan sighed. "The truth is I don't understand it. I'll never understand it, because I can tell you this much. I love you. I love you with all that I have, Sean." Tears fell on Spot's face, and he wasn't entirely sure if they were his or Bryan's. 

"Why?"

"What?"

Spot sat up, turning to face the wall. He didn't want to look. 

"Why do you love me? Nobody does. They didn't. They had four years, and you had four months. Why?" Spot went on before Bryan could answer. Try as he might to hide it, the quiver in his voice was painfully obvious. 

"You said Hannah doesn't matter that much because it hasn't lasted for that long. I haven't been here that long!" Spot whimpered, and he hated himself for it. 

"Why am I different?"

_You aren't. You're fucking stupid for believing you could be._

"Because you are my _child_ , Sean." Bryan held him by the shoulders. 

"My son. That doesn't change, not ever."

Spot closed his eyes and let the tears flow hot down his cheeks. 

"My sweet boy," Bryan sighed, pulling Spot close. He wasn't about to protest, just lean into the hug. 

"What's different is that this is forever. Not like everything before now. You're home." 

Home was a common word. Everyone used it. Spot used it, even before, when the place he lived wasn't home. Still, that common word, said now, said like that? It hit him like a ton of bricks. 

Bryan kissed the top of his head. Spot supposed he should feel ridiculous about that, but he didn't. 

"Sean, you will always be my son, no matter what." 

"I love you, Dad," Spot whispered. "I love you."

"I love you more."

Spot smiled and buried his face into the man's shirt. He'd never known something so cheesy to sound so absolutely perfect. 


	45. I cannot be kind for more than 30 seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I'm nice to the characters for too long, it affects my IBS and I feel sick.  
> Thus, I do this.

David hefted the bulky tuba case into the trunk of the car and slammed the door shut. Getting back into regular rehearsals for concert band was nice, but having to cram a tuba into the car was not. 

Sarah herself, owner of this particular tuba, half ran, half slid across the parking lot towards him, with the much more careful Spot trailing behind.

"All signed up," she announced cheerfully. Spot shuffled up to the car unsteadily. 

"Yeah, whatever. Can we go?" 

Clearly, somebody wasn't all too excited about branching out into extracurricular activities this semester, but Bryan wanted Spot to do things with his life. 

Sarah had taken the initiative to volunteer him for the school robotics club, and Spot had been grouchy about it all day. 

Gradually, he grew less grouchy as they drove towards home, as Spot often did after the school day ended. 

"Don't we have to get Les?" he asked as they drove past the elementary school.

"Dad got him," Sarah explained from the backseat. 

David almost drove off the road. 

" _S_ _hit_ , David," Spot snapped. "The hell?" 

_Shit_ was right. 

He pulled into the library parking lot to calm down. All of middle school, David had volunteered at the library. Bryan suggested it, so maybe he could be less shy. Make friends easier. Bryan was caring like that. 

David didn't hear anything except the word _dad_ , over and over again in his mind. 

Sarah didn't call Bryan dad. She called him Bryan, like David did. Or she had before, at least. How long had she been calling Bryan Dad, and David just hadn't heard it? Did Bryan notice that she was calling him dad, and David wasn't? 

Sarah, Les, Spot. He was Dad to all of them, but not David. 

David, who had apparently gotten out of the car and started to pace, both without realizing he was doing it. 

"David? What's wrong?" 

Sarah was concerned, because of course she was. Sarah cared about everyone. Not like David, who was probably breaking Bryan's heart every day he didn't acknowledge all that the man had done for them for _years_. He was their dad in every way that mattered. So why didn't David know how to say it? He started off down the gravel path leading to the dumpster. 

"David, stop!" 

No, thank you, Spot. 

David did not intend to stop. He broke into a sprint, down the slippery hill behind the library and off into the woods. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Sarah and Spot panicking, and his own little voice agreeing with them, but that didn't matter. 

What mattered was moving, not stopping, and not thinking. 

* * *

  
"What the fuck do we do?" 

Sarah stood at the treeline, trying to see which way David had gone. Of course, he'd gone _behind_ the library before entering the woods, and even now, in the winter, it was too thick to see very far. 

Spot shivered beside her. "Sarah?"

"I… don't know," she whispered. 

"I'll call Dad?" Spot half suggested, half-asked. 

Sarah nodded numbly. She wanted nothing more than to run after David, to find him right now, to figure out _what happened._

Where was he going, and why?

Spot tugged at her jacket sleeve. 

"Sarah, we have to go home. Come on," he pleaded, shivering again. That snapped her out of her trance. Her other brother needed her to be functional, and besides, breaking down right now wouldn't help David, or anybody else. 

Sarah climbed into the driver's seat, the car still blasting heat directly into her face. 

Gear shift. Turn signal. Accelerate, brake, turn, stop sign. 

Sarah knew those things for sure. What she did not know, and did not understand, was what kind of gymnastics routine her mind was doing right now. 

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Sarah managed to get out. "I don't… I have no idea."


	46. I'm literally a psychic or whatever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary contains mentions of fire, animal death. Chapter does not. 
> 
> Remember how I wrote in this story that their house burned down?  
> Guess what happened to my family yesterday.  
> That.  
> I lost my home and possibly all of my pets, though we still have hope for one of our cats.  
> I am sad to tell everyone that the cat who inspired Jenny, my cat Chloe, was most likely killed in the fire, along with my dog and our rabbits and parakeets.  
> Every part of me aches because of what was lost, and I am so very tired, but all of the humans are safe.
> 
> So yeah, not sure how that'll affect my updating schedule, obviously.
> 
> You can see a bit more about what happened on my tumblr, @maggs-is-a-muppet.  
> I welcome any and all distractions, if anyone would like to talk to me about anything, just please do not send me pictures of dogs.

Spot watched as Sarah paced the entirety of Racetrack's house. They'd been dumped here, and he hated it. 

He wanted to go home. This was wrong and scary and all too familiar. 

Spot was happy. Something happened. Spot got dumped. But Sarah and Les were here. Bryan wouldn't leave them. He couldn't, because they were officially adopted. Spot wasn't. He was different. Easier to get rid of. 

Racetrack snuggled him close, and Spot tried to relax. Nobody was getting gotten rid of. He'd go home soon. David would be fine. They'd find him. He couldn't wander around forever, right? 

Spot squirmed a little closer to Racetrack, squishing them both deeper into the couch. The selfish part of him wanted Bryan, here, now, but that part was being fought by the part that wanted Bryan to go find David. 

The _Find David_ part was bigger, but the _Please, Help Me_ part was feral, aggressive, and absolutely terrified. 

What was that story, with the two wolves? Spot had seen it on horribly edited "inspirational" posts before, and also truck stop t-shirts, probably. Two wolves fighting inside you, a good wolf and a bad wolf. The one you feed is the one that wins. 

Whoever made that up did not understand wolves, or how fights worked. They were fighting. You couldn't very well feed only one without stopping the fight, and if you stopped the fight and only fed one, the other would tear you apart from the inside. Hungry was hungry, and nobody would go down like that without a fight. 

None of that made sense, and Spot's head hurt. He didn't even _like_ wolves. Spot also did not like truck stops, motivational posters, or the possibility of his dad abandoning him again. 

Racetrack hugged him a little tighter, and Spot realized he'd started to tremble. 

"Sarah?"

He sounded really pathetic, didn't he? 

Sarah sat down right next to them, stiff and unsteady. 

Les was off with Gabby, doing who knew what. Probably playing with the evil beast Racetrack called his pet. 

Les, for some reason, was a fan of dogs, including Bagel. 

Spot couldn't decide who to lean on, Racetrack or Sarah. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd been having that issue a lot lately. Too many people who he cared about and trusted, as if there could be such a thing. 

Too many, too much family. That was nice. Sure, maybe Spot was trying desperately to distract himself. Maybe that _was_ what he was doing. He had every right to do so, and he was going to continue to do it, because Skittery left him again. 

Spot shook his head, whacking against Racetrack's skull with a thunk.

Not Skittery. David. David ran off. And he'd be back. Not like Skittery, who left Spot all alone for years and years. 

Skittery walked away with all his things in a backpack, and he didn't come back. Spot didn't want to cry. He knew he'd be in trouble for crying. He was almost ten. Too old to cry. 

David didn't have any of his things. Didn't even have a coat. Spot blinked away tears. 

Too old to cry. 

But he wasn't ten anymore. Maybe fourteen wasn't too old to cry. Because Sarah's hand on his shoulder was warm, and not a threat, and she was crying too. Racetrack hugged him tight, like Spot might fall apart and the pieces all fly away. 

He wished he could fly away. He'd go anywhere else. Find a volcano to look into, maybe. That was what his stomach felt like. Boiling, rolling, burning. Everything hurt and Spot kept crying. 

Racetrack hugged him close, hugged Sarah close. Spot was just glad Les wasn't watching. 

Nine was too young to be hurt like that. 


	47. Sad rhymes with Dad.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I'm miserable.  
> I miss my dog and I want to go home.  
> Everything sucks for me, so I hurt David.  
> Sorry, David, ily. <3
> 
> Bryan : a good dad. Would not leave my dog in a burning building.  
> He's my new dad.
> 
> ALSO, the cat that inspired Jenny is ALIVE AND WELL. Also very snuggly and happy to have not been abandoned. Not so happy that the other cat wants to play with her.

David wasn't sure where exactly he was, and he didn't really care, anyway. He walked down an unfamiliar road past houses he'd never seen before. 

He must have really wandered far. Not that it mattered. David didn't have anything else to do or anyplace else to go.

He couldn't think. 

David was five years old, and his dad held him close on the couch, reading from a colorful book about zoo animals. He'd point to a word, and have David sound it out. 

_Pen-gooeen_ , little David Jacobs said, and Mayer Jacobs laughed. 

_Penguin, David,_ he smiled, ruffling his curly hair. 

_Penguin,_ David repeated, tapping the picture for emphasis. 

16 year old David shivered, because he was no penguin, and he'd left his coat in the car. Bryan would be so worried. He didn't need more to worry about. God, why was David like this? He'd never even _thought_ about it, not really. 

Mayer taught him to read and Bryan taught him to drive and how was David supposed to choose? He wiped at his eyes, then rubbed his hands together. He didn't want to choose.

It must have been easier for Spot, in a way. There was no decision to be made. Aiden Conlon wasn't worth loving. Bryan Denton was. 

Mayer Jacobs and Bryan Denton were both amazing. David wanted them both. 

But that wasn't possible. Mayer was gone forever, and if he weren't gone, then David wouldn't know Bryan. 

There wasn't a choice to make, but who was actually his dad? 

"David?"

The voice made him twitch and nearly stumble off the sidewalk. 

Bryan pulled up beside him in the car and immediately jumped out. 

"Oh, David, are you alright?" Bryan reached out, but hesitated. 

"David, honey, can I touch you?"

David tried to say _yes_ , because that was what he wanted more than anything, but the words wouldn't come. He nodded instead, and Bryan pulled him close, tight, warm. All the right kinds of pressure to keep every part of David that threatened to fly away contained inside a perfect and wonderful hug. 

He couldn't ever be grateful enough, and if he could, he probably wouldn't be able to manage it.

What kind of a son was he?

Bryan didn't say anything, just guided him slowly towards the car. 

He was probably hurt and angry and worried, and it was David's fault entirely. He sat down in the passenger seat, vaguely aware of Bryan wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. 

"Sweet boy, you're freezing."

Was he? Bryan touched David's cheek gently. Well, his hands definitely felt warm, so maybe David was cold. 

"Let's get you warmed up." 

* * *

Bryan messaged Rosa Higgins to arrange for the others to spend the rest of the day at her place, and then messaged Sean and Sarah to let them know. 

He wanted so badly to give them more explanation than just _everything's fine, stay at Racetrack's place_ , but right now was not the time.

Bryan was juggling four balls every day, and right now, David's was made of glass. He couldn't afford to drop it. 

David himself shivered in the passenger seat, wrapped in a thick blanket that Bryan was very glad he'd thought to bring along. 

Bryan talked quietly about nothing, just filling the silence with some kind of calm, constant noise for David to focus on. The boy stared blankly, rubbing his hands together and along the upholstered seat. That was a good sign though. If David was aware enough to stim, he wasn't completely lost in his mind. 

"David, honey, can you hear me?" 

David could almost certainly hear Bryan; he usually could. But that wording was the most "normal", and what David preferred. 

Bryan saw David nod out of the corner of his eye. 

"Alright, we're home."

Bryan put the car in park. 

"I'm going to unbuckle your seatbelts, alright?" 

After a moment, David nodded. 

Slowly, carefully, Bryan helped him out of the car and into the house, still wrapped up in the blanket like a cloak. 

He settled David on the sofa and pulled him close, putting pressure everywhere possible. 

David shuddered, relaxing into his arms, and Bryan's heart broke. 

All the tension melted away, and he wondered just how long David had been holding it in. What happened today that finally pushed his boy too far? 

David started to cry, quietly at first, then growing into painful sobs, shaking and clinging to Bryan's shirt. 

Were Bryan and David about the same height? Yes, but that didn't mean he couldn't fit his son onto his lap. It was just a bit more of a squeeze than it used to be. Okay, a lot more of a squeeze. An awkward tangle of legs and arms that Bryan wouldn't change for the world. 

He cradled the boy close and remembered a smaller boy, scared of the dark, finally trusting him enough to ask for comfort. 

The little boy in the past sat silently, curling up close to his chest. 

Now far bigger, far more comfortable, David cried, and Bryan didn't know why. 


	48. I miss my stuffed animals. Have a chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I cant SLEEP without my STUFFED ANIMALS.  
> 

Spot couldn't decide if he was sulking, hiding, or thinking. Maybe all of them at once. He tossed his stuffed chicken in the air and let it land on his chest. The furry thing tickled his chin, and was a welcome distraction from all that was going on inside his head. 

Bryan didn't usually brush him off like that. 

_Go to bed, Sean._

And then he just turned away, back to David. Spot didn't want to go to bed. It was barely nine, and he wasn't tired. Grouchy, maybe, but he was always grouchy. 

Jenny purred against his side, happy to just snuggle. Maybe Spot had been neglecting her a little bit lately. What he mostly wanted was attention from Bryan, not a cat, but that wasn't fair. 

"You want attention, right, Jenny?"

Jenny gave a little mrrrp and kneaded at his side. 

"Fuck, _pointy_ ," Spot complained, rubbing between her ears. 

"It's a good thing you're cute." 

Spot himself was kind of on the pointy side, and he didn't exactly have the features that made Jenny cute. David wasn't cute, but he also wasn't particularly pointy, and he needed attention after today. At this specific moment, Spot was being a selfish prick about everything, and he knew it. 

"Jenny," he sighed, rubbing under her collar. "I hate being ignored."

Jenny licked at his hands with her sandpaper tongue, grooming him like a kitten. 

"Miss your babies?" 

She stopped mid-lick to look Spot in the eyes, blinking slowly and purring. 

"Guess this makes me the stand-in kitten, huh?"

Jenny's kittens had been adopted much faster than Spot's adoption seemed to be going, and they had a perfectly good mother right here. 

Spot did _not_ have a perfectly good mother, so why was it taking so long? He had Deirdre Conlon, who did not love him. The thought hurt, but Spot knew it was true. She didn't love him, or at least, not enough to do anything about it. 

But it was okay now. Now, he was in a good place, that was, theoretically, permanent. 

Spot shook his head. Not theoretically. This _was_ permanent. He was staying. Even Jonathan said everything was going fine. "Barring any extreme changes," he'd said. 

Extreme changes. What counted as extreme? The house burning down wasn't extreme enough, so the chances of something _more_ extreme must have been microscopic. 

So why did Jonathan have to fucking bring it up? 

Spot threw the chicken as hard as he could into the ceiling. Stupid Jonathan and his stupid opinions and stupid lack of awareness and stupid stupidity. 

"I fucking hate him," Spot informed Jenny, who did not care. She didn't seem to be listening, and was in fact twisted into a pretzel, possibly asleep. 

"I really hope you don't mean me."

Spot jolted and missed catching the chicken, instead getting smacked in the face. 

"Fuck…" he grumbled, and Bryan laughed from the doorway. 

"Language. Who do you hate?" 

Spot chucked the chicken into the corner of his room. 

"Jonathan. Fucking asshole. I hate him," Spot repeated. 

Instead of chiding him on the language, Bryan sat down on the edge of Spot's bed, moving Jenny a bit, and pissing her off significantly. 

She grumbled along with Spot, heaving herself to her feet dramatically and curling up right above his shoulders. 

"I'm so sorry for the disturbance, your majesty." Bryan scratched under her chin. That required reaching across Spot's face, but for once in his life, he didn't mind having people's hands right above him. Of course, that didn't stop him from being a sassy little bitch. 

"Off with your head." 

Bryan smiled and tweaked his nose. Spot scrunched up his face to show his absolute loathing for this entire situation. He did a very good imitation of Jenny's "How Fucking Dare You" face. 

"You doing okay? I know today was kind of scary." 

Spot nodded, wriggling deeper into his blanket pile. He didn't want to admit to the pouting he'd just finished doing.

"Is…" he didn't know how to ask. 

"David's fine," Bryan said, answering the question despite Spot not actually asking it.

"He's just dealing with a lot right now."

Spot was part of A Lot. 

"Not your fault," Bryan said firmly, thus cementing Spot's belief that he could read minds. 

"Life is just hard sometimes. I promise, he'll be okay. We all will." 

Bryan got up and collected Spot's chicken, which had been flopping dejectedly in his pile of laundry. 

"Chicken?" he offered the plush, as if Spot was some kind of a baby who needed a comfort item to sleep. No, his blanket did _not_ count. Not a security blanket, _Jack._ Fuck you. He'd break his fucking nose again. 

Of course, that didn't stop Spot from accepting the chicken anyway. 

"Goodnight, kiddo." Bryan kissed his forehead, which was weird. What was Spot supposed to do, exactly? 

"Night, Dad."

Saying goodnight was always a safe option, unless of course it was not nighttime, which it was, so that was fine. 

Everything was fine and good and Bryan came in to check on him even with everything being crazy. 

Spot curled into his blanket and held his chicken close, the living space heater that was Jenny nestled right up against his back.

Perfect. 


	49. None title with left chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *bonks u in the head with a chapter*
> 
> Tw for hospitals and needles, mentions of vomiting, but in less of a stressful, traumatic way, and more of a Chill Yet Annoying kind of situation.  
> If you got a chronic illness, you know what I mean.

Something about hospital chairs made Spot really wish his illness was terminal, so he wouldn't have to keep coming back here. It was either the weird mixture of squishy and firm, or the texture of the fabric. Maybe they did that on purpose. If the chair made annoying sounds every time you moved, people were more likely to stay still while they had a needle stuck in their arm. 

Spot did not want to think about the needle in his arm. He did not like having a needle in his arm any more than he liked having Bryan and the doctor discuss every bodily function he could possibly have going on within earshot of probably the entire hospital, since they didn't use fucking _doors_ here, just curtains. 

Spot did not monitor his literal shit, and he did not plan to start now, whether they put up a door or a curtain or steel bars in this little sitting-and-being-pricked area. 

"Well, you've lost some weight since last time," the doctor sighed, looking at his paperwork. 

"Been eating okay?"

Spot shrugged. "I guess." 

He'd been eating more than normal, since Bryan was dead set on his gaining weight. Apparently it wasn't working, probably because he had a tendency to throw up any significant food. 

"He gets sick if he eats too much at once," Bryan explained, since Spot wasn't going to. 

Maybe crohn's disease _was_ terminal. He could always hope. They could hang bird feeders over his grave and get literal shit all over. That would be almost poetic. 

"Mostly he eats snacks throughout the day."

Yes, because Spot was a kindergartener who had to have a scheduled snack time or he would throw up.

He'd complain more about the comparison, except for the very distracting needle sticking in the side of his arm. 

The doctor hummed noncommittally, rifling through his papers. 

"Well, we've got a couple options, like I said last time," he said, turning more towards Bryan, like everybody did when there were decisions that actually needed to be made. Spot would not be consulted, of course, even though it was _his_ intestines they always wanted to prod and probe. 

What had they talked about "last time"? And why hadn't Spot been part of that conversation?

Spot listened absently to all the horrible things the hospital mad scientists wanted to do to him, the sadists they were. The saline drip kept on dripping, unfortunately too quiet to hear. That would be a better sound than stupid Dr. Morris and his stupid voice saying all his stupid opinions. 

Drip drip into the tube and into the needle and into Spot's arm. 

"There is no way you're cutting me open again," Spot announced to the entire "room". 

Bryan rubbed the arm that didn't have a needle in it, and Spot considered pushing him away, but decided against it. 

"Nobody's cutting you open," he promised. Spot was absolutely going to hold him to that. Dr. Morris nodded in agreement. 

"We've got some less-invasive options that I'd recommend well before any more surgeries, especially on someone your size."

Spot scowled, and Bryan obviously and badly stifled a laugh, the jerk. Spot wasn't small, and Bryan was a traitor. 

"Your gut needs a chance to heal, after going untreated for so long."

Medical neglect had not been Spot's idea, and he hated the way Dr. Morris always implied that it was. Complaining if he felt like shit was ignored at best, so he quickly learned to shut up. 

Now he never shut up, and that was going to stay everybody else's problem.

"I'll see about a prescription for some supplements." Dr. Morris scribbled away at his paper. 

"But for now, you can get this in grocery stores." He handed Bryan a slip of paper and Spot tuned everything else out, as he didn't care.

His arm itched like hell, but the fucking _needle_ made scratching it a very bad idea. He wriggled a little to get more comfortable, but it wasn't like there was any real way to do that with an IV in. Dr. Morris finally left, thank goodness, and Spot and Bryan were left alone. Bryan knew how to be quiet, which Spot appreciated, but he was really ready to go home. 

"Dad?" 

Bryan looked up from his phone. "Yes?"

"How much longer?"

Spot basically knew the answer, but he was bored and wanted a distraction. 

"Not long, kiddo. Just finish up that bag."

Spot resented the stupid IV bag. It sucked and he hated the thing. 

It made leaning on Bryan complicated and uncomfortable, but Spot did so anyway. The man put one arm around his shoulders and used the other to hold his phone to text. 

"When do we meet her?" Spot asked, gesturing with his free arm at the phone. 

_Hannah_ was the contact Bryan had been texting. 

"I'm not sure."

Of course he wasn't. 

"It'll be soon, if you want it to be. She'll come over for dinner or something."

Spot nodded. He could manage that.

Half of him wanted to ask _is she nice_ , while the other half remembered that he'd already asked that, and besides, it was a useless question. If Bryan liked Hannah, she was probably nice. 

Though he claimed to like Spot, and Spot wasn't nice, but that was different. 

The nurse who'd impaled Spot in the first place reappeared, interrupting his train of thought. 

"Ready to get that out?" She smiled entirely too cheerfully for someone talking about a needle, but to be fair, it wasn't like the thing was in _her_ arm. 

She messed around with the IV bag for a moment and then reached for Spot's arm. He tried not to flinch, but this part was just as bad as having it put in. 

Bryan gave his shoulders a little squeeze. 

It was over before he knew it, and Spot managed to not make any pathetic, dying bunny rabbit noises while the nurse unplugged him from the torture machine. She wrapped his arm in stretchy gauze-stuff and Spot was officially free from the sadists for another two months, assuming his body didn't have a hissy fit and bring him back sooner. 

Knowing his luck, it probably would, but for now, Spot could pretend. Besides, he always felt better for at least a few weeks after these visits, so that was something to look forward to. 


	50. 50 Chapters! *insert comically depressing party horn noise here*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm moving into an actual house this Wednesday and out of this stupid hotel.  
> To celebrate this news, I wrote almost 900 words and drew pictures of clowns in my sketchbook.

David rocked himself slowly in bed, letting the soothing motion lull him into a relaxing, zoned-out state. Right now, he could pretend not to be nervous. This was normal. He could handle a social situation. It would only be a few hours, and Bryan kept reminding him that if he needed to retreat upstairs at any point during the evening, that was totally allowed. 

He didn't really want that to be Hannah's first impression of him. 

It couldn't possibly be worse than what her first impression of Spot was probably going to be, to be fair. He was currently pacing David's room anxiously, muttering curses under his breath. 

"Spot, I think you can calm down." Since both David and Spot were freaking out, Sarah had joined them as a voice of reason that they would both ignore. 

"It's going to be fine."

"Fucking easy for _you_ to say," Spot snapped. "Everybody likes you! They don't like me." 

Sarah leaned back against David's bed. 

"If she doesn't like you, it won't change anything. We still want you, and I know that's what you're thinking, so you don't have to think it anymore."

David stopped rocking in surprise. "What?"

Spot's face flushed. 

"I-I… that's not-that's not what I'm worried about." Even David could tell Spot was lying. 

"You think we won't want you anymore?" David had to admit, that stung. Spot really thought so low of their family? Hadn't they proved that they loved and wanted him enough times?

Spot cringed, and any annoyance David might have felt immediately flew away. 

"I… sorry. I don't know. I just don't want to mess this up." 

He looked back and forth from David to Sarah nervously. 

"Does he get with people often? Is this normal?"

David shrugged. 

"Not really. Bryan doesn't really…" David gestured vaguely. "Romance." 

Spot nodded, obviously unsatisfied with the answer. 

"So she's special." 

David shrugged again. 

"Maybe."

He didn't want Spot to freak out any more than he already was, but privately, David agreed with his fretting. Bryan didn't date, so if he was into this woman, she must have something special to make him take notice. With everything he did for their wonderful little family, Bryan deserved to be happy, and David wasn't going to be the one to mess that up. 

* * *

Admittedly, Hannah seemed nice, but that didn't mean Spot trusted her yet. 

He didn't particularly trust most people, especially not people who were interested in stealing his dad. Spot had waited fourteen years to get a real family, and no woman with a PhD and an apparent love of cats was going to ruin it for him. 

Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have already decided that Bryan's new girlfriend was absolutely wonderful, and they should all accept her one hundred percent. Spot disagreed. He did not know this woman, and seeming nice was not good enough, in his opinion. 

Spot sat lodged between the side of the couch and Bryan's messenger bag full of papers and books, fiddling with the purple pin stuck to the strap. A playing card ace of spades. Maybe Bryan also liked poker. He could talk to Racetrack about it, and then Spot wouldn't have to pretend to care about poker. 

At least Jenny didn't seem to like Hannah. The little cat had snuggled up between his legs, wanting to be included in the socialization, but also wanting to avoid everyone except for Spot. He reached down and rubbed her soft ears, getting quiet purrs that only he could hear. 

"What about you, Sean?" 

Spot twitched, turning to look at Hannah, who apparently wanted to involve him in the conversation he'd been completely ignoring. 

"What?" 

Jenny nudged his hand for more petting. 

"What's your thing?" Spot had no idea what that meant. 

"My thing?"

Hannah smiled nervously, and Spot almost didn't dislike her. 

"What do you like to do for fun?"

That was a very good question, and one that Spot probably looked very very stupid for not knowing how to answer. 

"Spot's in robotics club at school," Sarah offered, once again being his favorite sibling. 

"Yeah," he mumbled into Jenny's fur. 

"I like to take stuff apart."

And Bryan had started giving him more stuff to take apart, which nobody had ever done before. 

"My brother's a mechanic," Hannah said, brightening immediately. 

"Once you're old enough to start looking for jobs, I'm sure he could help you out."

Spot looked over at Bryan and shrugged. 

"Maybe." 

Would Hannah stay around that long? 

More importantly, did he _want_ her to stay around that long?

* * *

Bryan watched Sean constantly, making sure the boy wasn't too stressed by this new experience. If something went wrong now, the very first time he and Hannah met, they might never get past it. Well, Hannah would get past it, but Sean was a traumatized child. 

He was justifiably stubborn in whatever beliefs he claimed as truth, and if one of those beliefs became Hannah Means Bad Things, he'd be stuck in that mindset. 

This evening had to go well. 

Luckily, so far nothing bad had happened. Sean ate a very small amount of his dinner, as usual, rolled his eyes when Bryan told him to go drink one of his nutrition supplements, but he did as he was told. 

All in all, things remained peaceful. 

Les chattered, as usual, David was quiet, but seemed to be warming up, and Sarah already decided Hannah was great. Bryan had no disagreements there. 

Sean looked at the woman suspiciously, but nothing too drastic. 

Things were going surprisingly well, considering how often their house fell into absolute chaos. 

Hopefully the evening would keep up the calmness for a few more hours


	51. None teacher with left dickhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My ear hurts, college is hard. I got a dog.  
> Her name is Josie.

As much as Spot hated school with every piece of his existence, he did like getting to see Racetrack every day. 

"I was only sort of late," Racetrack explained/complained. 

"And it was my neighbor's fault, anyway. What do they want me to do, leave a little old lady flat on her back in the snow?"

"Your mom is a cruel and unjust prison warden," Spot agreed, a small part of him not even joking. It was a very small part, because he didn't completely hate Mrs. Higgins, he just really wished she would calm down about… everything. 

"Yeah, she hates me," Racetrack agreed. That wasn't exactly true. Mrs. Higgins was not overly fond of _Spot_ , but she did love her own kids, over protective mama bear personality and all. 

Spot had never had that, a mom who wanted him. He didn't need it. He didn't need anything beyond Bryan. Bryan wasn't really bear-ish. Maybe Bear from Bear in the Big Blue House. 

That very first foster family put reruns of that on a lot. Spot remembered liking it, sort of. He'd hide under a chair, peeking out to watch from his safe little den. Little baby Spot wanted to climb into Bear's lap and go to sleep. 

Bear wouldn't kick or slap or pinch him. Bear was big and soft and nice. To a little kid who just wanted someone to hold him, Bear was perfect. 

Bryan was Bear, David was the weird lemur thing, Sarah was the smaller bear, Les had enough energy and personality to be the combination of two otters, and Spot was the rat that lived in their kitchen. 

Perfect. No need for anyone else to come into their family. No need for girlfriends who might eventually attempt to become _wives_. 

They didn't _need_ Hannah. 

"Why are you making that face?" 

Racetrack's voice popped Spot out of his confusing mess of puppet characterizing his family. 

"What face?"

"Like someone put an egg in your shoe."

Spot only half-forced a laugh at that. 

Not wanting to look like a total jackass who didn't like seeing his dad happy, Spot decided to lie to his boyfriend, like a total jackass would do. 

"I hate this class so much," he grumbled. That wasn't even _really_ a lie. He was just… not answering the question Racetrack had asked. 

Racetrack followed him into the classroom where Spot flopped down next to his table mate, who happened to be Bumlets from band. 

"Hey, Racer." Bumlets hardly looked up from whatever he was doing with his notebook. He'd torn off bits of the pages to make a strange sort of origami thing, but still attached to the spiral of the pad. 

"Hiya Bumlets." 

The first bell rang to let Racetrack know he had about a minute to get to his own class. 

He turned and quickly kissed Spot on the end of his nose while Bumlets pretended not to see them.

"I love you, bye, if I'm late to one more class my mom will kill me, so see you later."

Racetrack bolted from the room like a clumsy, wild rabbit who tripped over desks, and because Spot was in a good mood, he was going to assume the look Dr. Pine gave them was a result of the man disliking PDA in general, not homophobia. 

Public speaking class did not interest Spot in the slightest, but it did count as an english credit, so that was good enough. He just needed to pass, nobody said anything about doing _good_. Bryan expected him to try, but it wasn't like effort or lack thereof was something anybody could prove either way. 

Besides that, Bryan wasn't Mrs. Higgins, and he was way more focused on Spot's social skills than he was on grades. Probably wouldn't appreciate the way Spot was not currently talking to anyone at this table, but Bryan couldn't be disappointed if he never found out, right? 

Spot was not at risk of being grounded for his grades, or any Other consequence that had been historically the case from any adult in his life, so why did he keep doing all the homework? 

It was a waste of time, Spot decided as Dr. Pine handed back the previous night's worksheet packet. 

Who cared about types of speeches? Spot sure as hell didn't. He flicked the pages absently without actually looking at them. He was now firmly in the C-plus range for just about every class, so better than he'd ever been before. 

Maybe there was something to Bryan's whole "Feed Your Brain" thing. 

Spot would rather let his brain starve than eat more of that stupid fiber-additive trail mix Bryan kept buying. Wasn't like he used his brain that much, right?

 _I drink the stupid formula and I take the stupid pills, and that's good enough_. 

Spot looked at the paper and bit down hard on his tongue, tasting blood.

The class began for real, but he didn't hear anything. Any and all indifference he'd just been feeling shattered onto the gross, ugly public-school carpet. 

He couldn't look up from the sheet. Words seared into his mind, red ink burning hot. It hurt.

Bumlets kicked him under their table, and Spot tried to focus. It didn’t matter, he couldn’t hear anything around the thub-thub of blood in his ears. Spot would not cry. Not here, not now. No matter how much he wanted to. He couldn’t breathe, though, and that was a bit of a problem. 

Sean Conlon-Denton. 

Soon, somebody official and legal-government-like would write that on a piece of paper, and it would _mean_ something. It would mean forever, that Spot didn't ever have to worry about being on his own. It would mean he really and officially had a family. 

That would be his name. For now, it wasn't, not really. Sean Conlon-Denton was a promise, not a fact. 

The teacher had crossed out Denton in red pen. 

_Use your real name in my class, please_. 


	52. Short chapter with left pillow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard and I'm tired

The front door slammed significantly louder than usual, and Bryan knew immediately that something was up.

Sean stomped upstairs to his room, slamming that door as well. David shrugged helplessly and set down his backpack and instrument case. 

“He won’t tell us.”

Bryan rubbed at his eyes and set his work aside. Of course he wouldn't tell them. Better go see what that was all about. 

One shoe by the door, one half under the bed, backpack spilling across the floor where it had no doubt been tossed. Sean curled up on his side, wrapping his head in his arms. 

Somebody was upset, that was for sure. 

Bryan sat on the end of the bed. 

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

Sean kept his arm crossed over his face. 

"Nothing. It's fine."

"Lies." Bryan prodded his leg, but got no reaction. That was fine; he could wait. Sean would open up eventually. 

Or he'd curl up into a tight little ball pressed close to Bryan's side, still not talking. 

"Can I drop out of school?" The poor boy sounded to be only half joking. Bryan ran a hand through his hair. An eye half-peeked at him from behind one skinny elbow. 

"What happened?"

Sean sat up halfway and reached into his backpack, pulling out a stack of papers. Bryan restrained himself from bringing up the fact that Sean had several perfectly good binders and folders to keep his school things organized. That lecture would be better off saved for another day. A day when his boy didn't look like he wanted to cry, shatter, or run away and hide. 

He handed Bryan a wrinkled sheet that looked like it had been crumpled into a ball. 

"I don't understand."

Bryan looked at the paper, confused. There were a few little marks off, but nothing worth being upset about, surely?

Sean wormed his way under Bryan's arm and jabbed a finger at the top of the page. 

Oh. 

"What class is this?" 

Bryan struggled to keep control of his voice. If he sounded angry, Sean would almost certainly misunderstand. 

"Speech." The boy looked at him anxiously. 

"It's… not that big a deal, I guess." 

"Kiddo, you're allowed to be upset," Bryan said gently. He squeezed Sean's shoulders and kept his voice steady. 

"I'll call the school, get you switched classes if we need to." 

Sean nodded, then stuffed the worksheet back into his bag. He leaned into Bryan's side with a sigh, somewhere between relieved and hurt. 

Bryan gently kneaded between his shoulder blades and the boy snuggled himself even closer. 

"Dad, why is it taking so long?" Had Bryan not been giving his full attention, he might have missed the tiny voice with it's puzzling question. 

Puzzling to anyone else, that is. Bryan knew exactly what Sean was asking about. 

"It's complicated stuff, son. I'm sorry I don't have a better answer." 

That tiny little sniffle broke his heart. 

"Sweetheart, soon. I promise. As soon as possible." 

Not that he knew when, exactly, that would be, but Bryan could call Jonathan tomorrow. Try and hurry things along. Would it work? Probably not. But maybe he'd be able to do something. Maybe get them that one little step closer to making everything official. 

For now, _Soon_ would have to be good enough. 

* * *

Just because Jonathan _said_ he had good news did not necessarily mean he did. Maybe he thought it was good news, but Jonathan was a stupid fucking idiot who wouldn't know good if it bit him on his stupid fucking nose. 

Spot flopped in bed and put his pillow over his face, unfortunately not enough to smother himself. 

Actually, it was fortunate. He didn't want to be smothered at this particular moment in time. Maybe not any moments, possibly ever. 

What he wanted, aside from not being smothered to death, was for whatever legal garbage that was keeping him from being officially and completely adopted to end as soon as possible. 

Nothing would change. But it would still be different. 

Spot could sign his name the way he wanted, and nobody could tell him to stop. Nobody could tell him it was wrong, or that all of this wasn't _real_ enough. 

Spot rolled over onto his stomach to calm some of the uneasiness. This felt real. He hoped it was real. 

All these things he couldn't properly put into words, all these things he couldn't stand to lose. 

Whatever Jonathan's news was, it probably didn't mean Spot was going anywhere anytime soon. 

Probably. 

Surely Bryan would tell him, right? Unless this was all fake, and Bryan just wanted him to be cooperative. Maybe he'd lie to keep Spot calm about whatever was coming next. 

Maybe Dr. Pine was right. Maybe none of anything Spot thought was real was actually real. 

This pillow sure was squishy. Perfect amount of squishiness for Spot to shove his entire face into it, but still be able to breathe. 

Whatever came next, Spot would, unfortunately, be alive for it. 


	53. Hmmmmmmmm help me make decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suddenly realized how many chapters there are here and now I'm like "when the fuck do I end this?"  
> Do I end it soon, or are folks still wanting to read more? I feel like I'm probably boring people, but I do have some more ideas that could maybe be one-offs on their own?  
> Idk just give me opinions pls ♡

Not having to testify against his parents in court was apparently supposed to be good news to make Spot happy. 

He supposed it would have been a relief, if not for the fact that _nobody bothered to tell him that he'd been expected to do so before now_. 

They just now un-planned a terrible plan, a plan that should never have been made, and Spot was ticked. Bryan _lied_ to him. He said he'd never have to see _them_ ever again, but he knew Spot would have to. Sure, that lie had turned into the truth, but that didn't mean Bryan hadn't been lying when he said it. 

"Sean, I-" Spot slammed the door right in Bryan's face. He didn't want to talk, not now, probably not ever. He'd stay right here, Spot decided, flopping onto his bed. Spend the rest of eternity in this exact position, and nobody could stop him. 

Maybe not this specific position. 

Spot flipped over onto his stomach, which, of course decided to pretend like it was currently being stabbed. 

Fuck this, fuck everything, and fuck Bryan, who, surprisingly, was not barging in to explain, apologize, or even yell at Spot for being rude, despite the fact that he totally could because Spot did not think to lock the door. 

He heard a sigh from outside of said door, and almost felt bad. Only almost, he told himself. Spot did not feel bad. This had nothing to do with his stomach hurting, probably. The fact that it didn't hurt before now was utterly irrelevant and meant nothing whatsoever.

"Sean, you don't have to talk to me, but I'll be in the living room if you change your mind." 

And with that, Bryan walked away and down the stairs. He didn't even _try_ to barge in after Spot. 

How he was supposed to feel about that, Spot wasn't sure, but he was very quickly getting bored of angrily sulking, so at some point he was probably going to either go talk to Bryan or go sit out on the roof for a little bit. 

He cracked the window open just a little, and immediately shut it again. Too cold to go out there, thank you very much, _weather._

Stupid weather. 

Stupid weather and stupid Bryan, who for some reason Spot was wandering off downstairs to find, because Spot was also stupid, and he wanted to have a stupid conversation and maybe Bryan would give him a stupid hug and he could pretend their stupid life was better now. 

He flopped aggressively against Bryan's side, because he was still fucking pissed and wanted Bryan to know it. A warm arm just wrapped around his shoulder, no explaining, lecturing, scolding, or apologizing. 

Spot leaned in a little closer. 

"I'm sorry, Sean." 

Adults didn't apologize to kids, especially not their own kids. Except Bryan. Bryan did a lot of things that every other adult Spot had ever met wouldn't do, and he didn't do a lot of the things they all always did, and that was confusing. What was he supposed to say to that?

He didn't want to say _it's fine,_ because it wasn't, and he didn't want to say I _forgive you_ , because there wasn't _really_ anything to forgive. 

So when Spot opened his mouth without planning what to say, what came out was "I love you," and deep down somewhere, that was basically what he wanted to say anyway. 

"I love you too, kiddo." 

Physically, Spot could not get much closer to Bryan than he already was, seeing as he was squished up against the man's side and did not intend to move. 

The only other option was to curl up in a little ball, half on Bryan's lap and half on the couch. 

"It's going to be okay, right?" Spot looked up to see Bryan's face. He wouldn't lie to him twice in a row, would he?

"It is. I'll make sure of it."

Spot decided he believed it. Things would be okay, finally. 

* * *

Things were not okay, and Spot was going to commit crimes. He hated the doctor so much. He hated being probed and prodded like a science experiment, and somehow Dr. Morris always managed to make something hurt. Maybe Spot was becoming a bit of a wuss. Either way, he hated it, and Bryan was going to have to do all the talking if he wanted anything to be said. 

"Alright Sean," Dr. Morris smiled falsely. "Hop on up." Stupid quack probably forged his medical degree. 

He patted the stupid paper-covered table, and Spot did as he was told. He didn’t exactly feel up to arguing, especially after puking twice, once in the car and once in the office waiting room. Things had been getting worse the past few days, which was why they were here.

Why did Dr. Morris always insist on sticking the cold stethoscope up under his shirt? Couldn't doctors do that through clothes? And then keep their stupid undead hands away from the patients who did not want to be infected by zombie virus?

"Deep breath." 

Zombies didn't breathe, so Spot was probably still a human being. 

"How have you been feeling, Sean? Other than this morning, obviously."

Bryan sighed when Spot said nothing. 

"He's complained about stomach aches some, and more joint pain than usual. Then today, he’s thrown up three times."

Dr. Morris nodded, frowning slightly. "Breathe in again."

Spitefully refusing to breathe sounded like a bad idea, so Spot cooperated. 

"Any constipation, diarrhea, or blood when you go to the bathroom?" 

Spot shook his head, as if he fucking _monitored_ that kind of thing. 

"Alright," Dr. Morris put his stethoscope around his neck. 

"Lay back, let me check you out."

Spot rolled back onto the crinkling paper and let his eyes wander across the bland gray ceiling. 

Dr. Morris pressed his hands along Spot's belly, moving from just below his ribcage down to the top of his hips. 

"Does that hurt?"

"No." _Fuck_ , he'd talked. It didn’t technically _hurt,_ but he sure as hell was going to vomit again if the doctor kept pushing on him. 

"No blockage that I can feel. It's probably just an IBS flare up, but be sure to monitor that for any changes, alright?" 

Spot ignored the question because he didn't want to respond anymore. 

"Sean," Bryan sighed, which really meant _Sean, stop ignoring the doctor and take your health seriously, idiot boy_. Except Bryan never called him an idiot. 

"Fine. I'll _monitor_ myself. Can we go home now?"

Bryan sighed again, probably the same meaning as the last sigh, and then turned to talk with the doctor about coming back next week if he was still puking up his stomach like a starfish. 

Spot was going to complain about all of this as soon as they got in the car, possibly even before that. 

They could never have too much complaining. 


End file.
